Impact Martial Arts Team Dewitt

Impact Martial Arts Team Dewitt Impact Dewitt offers martial arts classes to children and adults in the Syracuse area. đŸ„‹
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Every kid needs at least one adult they can talk to.And sometimes it’s not who you’d expect.Last year, I sat down for an...
09/04/2026

Every kid needs at least one adult they can talk to.

And sometimes it’s not who you’d expect.

Last year, I sat down for an podcast with school psychologist Jennifer Meyers, school resource officer Betsy Lehmann and Kira Pawletko, one of our black belts who studied neuroscience and psychology at Cornell.

We talked about teenagers.

Anxiety. Social media. Relationships. Mental health. Phones.

All the easy stuff. 😆

Toward the very end of the conversation, Betsy brought up the importance of kids having one trusted adult in their lives.

Someone they know they can talk to.

Someone they can rely on.

And she made the point that it doesn’t necessarily have to be a parent, teacher or counselor.

“Maybe it’s the lunch lady.”

That reminded me of a student I had years ago.

His person was his bus driver.

Every day, he sat toward the front of the bus.

And they talked.

That’s pretty much all I remember about it.

I don’t remember what they talked about.

I don’t remember the bus driver’s name.

At this point, I don’t even remember which student it was.

But apparently, I remembered the part that mattered.

He had someone.

When I told the story, Betsy called people like that the unsung heroes in kids’ lives.

Then Jenn said something incredibly simple.

“They show up every day.”

I’ve thought about that line ever since.

Because she’s right.

We tend to think of the people who make a difference in a kid’s life as the ones who do something extraordinary.

The teacher who gives the life-changing speech.

The coach who recognizes some hidden potential.

The mentor who somehow knows exactly what to say at exactly the right moment.

And those people certainly exist.

But I wonder how often it happens much more quietly than that.

The lunch lady who knows their name.

The teacher who notices they’re having a bad day.

The coach who asks twice when “I’m fine” doesn’t sound very convincing.

The neighbor who always has a minute.

The martial arts instructor who has known them long enough to know when something isn’t quite right.

The bus driver they talk to every morning.

Maybe none of those interactions seem particularly important while they’re happening.

But they accumulate.

One conversation.

Then another.

Then another.

Until eventually that adult isn’t just the person driving the bus anymore.

They’re something more.

Someone who knows me.

Someone I trust.

Someone I could talk to if I needed to.

As another school year begins, our kids are going to encounter a lot of adults.

Teachers.

Coaches.

Counselors.

Cafeteria workers.

Crossing guards.

Bus drivers.

Most of them will probably never know the impact they have.

The unsung heroes usually don’t.

They just keep doing something that seems incredibly ordinary.

They show up every day.

And sometimes, to a kid who needs them, there’s nothing ordinary about that.

Keep showing up. 👊

Teenagers don’t need their parents to be their friends.They already have friends.They need parents.Last year, I sat down...
09/02/2026

Teenagers don’t need their parents to be their friends.

They already have friends.

They need parents.

Last year, I sat down for an podcast with three people who spend a lot of time thinking about teenagers.

Jennifer Meyers has spent more than 20 years as a school psychologist.

Betsy Lehmann spent more than 25 years working with kids as a school resource officer.

And Kira Pawletko gave us the perspective of someone who had recently been one of those teenagers herself and moved on to study neuroscience and psychology at Cornell.

We talked about social media.

Anxiety.

Mental health.

Relationships.

Phones.

The pandemic.

And all the things that make growing up today different from when most of us did it.

But one part of the conversation has stuck with me.

Teenagers want independence.

Of course they do.

They’re supposed to.

They want more freedom. More privacy. More control over their own decisions.

And sometimes, as parents, it can be tempting to interpret all of that as:

They don’t need me as much anymore.

But they do.

Maybe just differently.

Betsy made a point during our conversation that I loved.

Teenagers already have friends.

What they need from their parents is someone willing to hold them accountable.

Someone willing to create structure.

Someone willing to establish boundaries.

And then she said something that sounds almost contradictory until you think about it:

Kids feel safe with boundaries.

Not necessarily happy about them.

Those are two very different things.

Your teenager may be completely certain that requiring them to put their phone away at dinner constitutes a breathtaking violation of their civil liberties.

They may present a compelling closing argument.

There may be exhibits.

Possibly witnesses.

You can still say no.

Because underneath all that growing independence is still a kid trying to figure out where the edges are.

And knowing where the edges are can make the world feel a little safer.

The job changes as they get older.

We listen more.

We trust more.

We loosen the grip.

We let them make decisions—and sometimes mistakes.

But we don’t disappear.

They have friends.

They still need parents.

There are going to be a lot of tired kids next week.And probably a lot of tired parents.For the last couple of months, b...
09/01/2026

There are going to be a lot of tired kids next week.

And probably a lot of tired parents.

For the last couple of months, bedtime has been negotiable.

Mornings have been optional.

Dinner might have happened at 5:30.

Or 8:47.

Shoes have been worn primarily when absolutely required.

And now, suddenly


Tuesday morning would like everyone dressed, fed, awake and functioning on a schedule.

Last year, when I had my friend Mary Beth Featherstone on the podcast, we talked about helping kids transition back to school.

Mary Beth has taught second grade for 20 years, so she has seen this movie a few times.

And one of the things she talked about was how much kids benefit from getting routine and structure back into their lives.

Regular bedtime.

Regular meals.

Reading every day.

Responsibilities around the house.

Less screen time.

Movement.

Nothing revolutionary.

But maybe that’s the point.

Because after a summer of vacations, sleepovers, camps, travel, late nights and days when nobody is entirely sure what day it is, we sometimes expect kids to flip a switch.

Summer ends Monday.

Student begins Tuesday.

Except kids don’t really work that way.

Mary Beth talked about how exhausted they can be during those first days back.

They’re adjusting physically.

They’re concentrating for hours again.

They’re navigating new teachers, new classrooms, new classmates and new expectations.

Even the fun parts take energy.

So maybe this week isn’t the week to expect perfection.

Maybe it’s the week to help them find their rhythm again.

A little earlier to bed.

A little less screen.

A little more predictability.

And maybe a little grace when the kid who successfully stayed awake until midnight for most of August completely falls apart on Wednesday because someone gave them the wrong color cup.

Structure isn’t punishment.

Sometimes it’s just the thing that makes everything else feel manageable again.

Every parent knows this conversation.“How was school?”“Fine.”“What did you do?”“Nothing.”Seven hours.Twenty-something ki...
08/31/2026

Every parent knows this conversation.

“How was school?”

“Fine.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Seven hours.

Twenty-something kids.

Math, reading, lunch, recess, specials, and at least one event that will be described very differently by every child involved.

And somehow


Nothing.

Last year, I had my good friend Mary Beth Featherstone on the podcast to talk about helping kids have a great school year.

Mary Beth has spent 20 years teaching second grade, and one thing she said stuck with me.

At the end of the day, instead of asking kids, “How was your day?” she asks:

“Tell me something good that happened today.”

Simple.

But better.

Because sometimes kids don’t know how to answer a giant question like, “How was school?”

So maybe this year, try getting smaller.

What made you laugh today?
What was the hardest part of today?
Who did you help today?
Tell me something good that happened today.

Our kids are about to spend a huge part of their lives somewhere we aren’t.

Maybe the goal isn’t to get every detail out of them.

Maybe it’s just to keep giving them reasons to tell us their stories.

The New York State Fair may be the single greatest people-watching event in Central New York.A hundred thousand of your ...
08/30/2026

The New York State Fair may be the single greatest people-watching event in Central New York.

A hundred thousand of your closest friends.

Every possible type of person.

Every possible type of outfit.

And apparently, at least one person wearing mine.

Laurie and I were walking into the Fair when a kid passed us wearing an Impact Dewitt dri-fit shirt.

“Hey. That kid was wearing one of our shirts.”

Laurie looked at me.

“So?”

“I don’t know who he is.”

“So?”

“No, you don’t understand. That’s a dri-fit. Those were special order. There aren’t that many of those out there.”

She thought about this for a second.

“Oh. That’s probably one of the ones I donated to Goodwill.”

This is why marriage occasionally requires restraint.

There is some history here.

Seventeen years ago, someone broke into the dojo.

I watched the security footage afterward, and among the things he stole was one of our team shirts.

It always bothered me that somewhere out in the community there was now a burglar walking around representing Impact Dewitt.

It still bothers me.

Seventeen years later.

Laurie knows this.

Which is precisely why she said it.

She immediately started laughing and assured me that she has never donated one of our shirts to Goodwill.

But the kid still bothered me.

Who was he?

I’ve always known my students. Especially well enough to recognize somebody walking around in one of our less common shirts.

Later that day, something happened that made me reconsider the mystery.

I ran into Lil’ Bill.

We called him that because his dad was Big Bill.

I hadn’t seen him in years.

He was at the Fair with his mom.

Then I ran into another former student, Vincent, with his dad, Vinny.

We could probably embellish history and claim we called him Little Vinny but I don’t remember because it was so long ago.

Little Vinny is now a huge, bearded man.

An incredibly nice huge, bearded man.

And looking at both of them, I realized something.

If they hadn’t been standing next to their parents, I’m not sure I would have recognized either of them.

The 12-year-olds I knew aren’t 12 anymore.

Which is becoming increasingly difficult for me to ignore.

I’m even starting to teach the children of some of our old black belts.

Which doesn’t seem mathematically possible.

I’m only 29.

And that’s when I started thinking about the kid in the dri-fit shirt again.

Maybe I did know him.

Maybe there was a time when I knew his name, his belt, where he liked to stand in class and exactly how many reminders it took to get him to stop talking.

Maybe he’s just grown up.

I’ve been doing this long enough now that this happens more and more.

Kids leave martial arts.

They go to high school and college. They get jobs. They build careers and families and lives that have nothing to do with kicking and punching.

A surprising number of them become gym rats.

I notice that all the time.

They may not practice martial arts anymore, but somewhere along the way, exercise became something they simply do.

I like to think we helped anchor that habit.

But there’s something else they carry with them.

Every once in a while, I’ll get a message from someone I taught as a kid.

They’re adults now.

And they’ll tell me about something they learned in the dojo that stuck.

A lesson.

A habit.

Confidence.

Discipline.

The ability to stand in front of a room and speak.

The understanding that when something gets hard, you keep showing up.

And those messages mean more to me than they probably realize.

Because ultimately, I don’t expect every kid who walks into our dojo to practice martial arts forever.

They’re supposed to grow up.

They’re supposed to move on.

They’re supposed to become people I might walk past at the New York State Fair and not even recognize.

But I hope some things travel with them.

Maybe it’s confidence.

Maybe it’s discipline.

Maybe it’s a lifelong habit of taking care of themselves.

Maybe it’s something an instructor said to them on a random Tuesday night that they didn’t fully understand until years later.

And apparently


sometimes it’s a dri-fit shirt.

08/26/2026

You are not obligated to hand money to someone standing at an intersection.

But you do not have to pretend they are invisible.

John Tumino of In My Father's Kitchen suggests starting with something simple: make eye contact, wave, or offer a respectful nod.

Those who want to do more can keep a small care bag in the car with seasonal supplies such as socks, water, wet wipes, or snacks. Offer it politely rather than assuming the person wants it, and do not take the answer personally if they decline.

Compassion does not have to be complicated.

See the person. Respect their choice. Protect their dignity.

Years ago, I was driving through the North Side of Syracuse when I saw a stop sign that had been creatively modified.DON...
08/25/2026

Years ago, I was driving through the North Side of Syracuse when I saw a stop sign that had been creatively modified.

DON’T STOP BELIEVIN’

Obviously, I took a picture.

Because for reasons that are difficult to explain, we have basically been a Journey dojo since our inception.

Our school has always played classic rock. Somewhere along the way, Journey became particularly well represented.

Very well represented.

For years, we joked that one of the lesser-known benefits of martial arts training at Impact Dewitt was that your child would not only learn focus, confidence and self-defense, but would also develop excellent taste in music.

And apparently it worked.

We legitimately had kids who could sing most of the Journey’s Greatest Hits album.

One of our Black Belts even plays bass in a Journey cover band, which obviously places him among the most accomplished graduates ever in dojo history.

The joke eventually made its way onto our team t-shirts:

Success is a Journey, Not a Destination.

Perfectly legitimate life lesson.

Also a fifteen-year-old inside joke.

Then the pandemic happened, routines changed, playlists changed, kids grew up, and somewhere along the way we lost our way a little.

We recently realized, with a certain amount of consternation, that the current generation of Impact Dewitt kids may not possess the same working knowledge of Journey that we once considered a basic requirement of martial arts training.

We are not proud of this.

Corrective measures are underway.

Because some traditions are worth bringing back.

Twice a year at our Black Belt Graduations, we still play Don’t Stop Believin’.

And when you think about what it takes for a kid to stand on that stage after years of training, maybe it isn’t such a ridiculous choice after all.

There are great classes and terrible classes. Breakthroughs and frustrations. Kids grow. Interests change. Life gets busy.

And somehow, they keep coming back.

Maybe that’s how culture gets built.

Not from motivational sayings somebody tells you are supposed to matter.

Sometimes it’s the weird little things you do together, over and over, until one day you realize they mean something.

So we’re reclaiming our former glory.

The classic rock is getting louder.

The musical education of America’s youth will resume.

Keep showing up.

Don’t stop believin’.

Apparently we’ve been saying the same thing for years.

One just has a better guitar solo. 🎾

08/24/2026

Ego does not always come from confidence.

Sometimes it comes from fear.

John Tumino shares how trauma training changed the way he views domineering, explosive, or defensive behavior. What appears to be someone making themselves bigger may actually be an attempt to protect a wounded part of themselves.

Understanding the source does not mean accepting mistreatment or abandoning boundaries. It means recognizing that behavior has a story.

That perspective helps John and In My Father's Kitchen lead with compassion without losing accountability.

Apparently, persistence pays off.For the last two weeks, a 4 year old Little Dragon Charley has asked me the same very i...
08/23/2026

Apparently, persistence pays off.

For the last two weeks, a 4 year old Little Dragon Charley has asked me the same very important question:

“Can we have popsicles?” 😂

She asked once.

Then she came back the next week and asked again.

At that point, I had to respect the commitment.

So, by popular demand, and by “popular demand,” I mean one extremely persistent four year old, this week is officially POPSICLE WEEK at Impact Dewitt. đŸŠđŸ„‹

Well played, Charley.

Sometimes leadership is simply refusing to let management forget your idea. 😂

08/21/2026

When John Tumino first met Kevin, Kevin was homeless, living outside, and struggling with addiction.

John and the team helped him enter recovery, secure an apartment, find employment, reconnect with his family, and begin rebuilding his life.

Years later, when In My Father's Kitchen needed someone to drive the Hire Ground van, John knew exactly who to call.

Kevin now helps people who are living through circumstances he understands personally. Some remember him from the street and can see living proof that change is possible.

A second chance can eventually become someone else’s first sign of hope.

Address

222 Old Bridge Street
East Syracuse, NY
13057

Opening Hours

Monday 2pm - 8:30pm
Tuesday 2pm - 8:30pm
Wednesday 2pm - 8:30pm
Thursday 2pm - 8:30pm
Friday 2pm - 8:30pm
Saturday 9am - 1pm

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