Kids Behaviour

In the dojo, just like the classroom, the children who interrupt, act out, and pay no attention to the lessons end up costing the diligent and eager students precious learning time. In turn, these eager students often get bored, feel like they are not learning enough, and resent those who are disruptive and are getting all the attention of the instructor. I've seen kids get fed up and not want to participate anymore. In both school, and karate class.

And the martial arts is full of children who have parents seeking discipline for their unfocused youngsters. This can be a good thing. Sometimes it works. However, there is a notion that a martial arts instructor can mystically transform any student. Or that the discipline of a martial art is going to “force” a youngster to “fall in line” as it were.

But it's not the army. And misbehaving children, while some are just seeking attention, many have genuine problems focusing and/or behaving, especially in a situation that is not one-on-one. The situation needs understanding, to be sure.

However, having a dojo full of students watching one or two children do push-ups for half of the class is not ideal for anyone. And truly, the eager students pay the price for this behaviour.

I think the parents need to be more involved. Often, they just drop off the child and come back after the class is over. Like it's a babysitting situation. But they need to watch what is going on from time to time. After all, there may be a bigger problem here that needs to be addressed.

Likewise, instructors need to have open communications with the parents. Many also need to learn more about childhood behaviour and attention disorders.

And lastly, other students in the class, even though they are young, need to feel comfortable speaking up and identifying problems. The instructor needs to listen to this and work things out accordingly.

Because there is room for everyone when it comes to learning, but sometimes a little extra work is required by everyone involved.

"Long Quiet Highway"

There is a book from the early '90s I recently re-read, called: Long Quiet Highway by American author Natalie Goldberg. It is a autobiographical memoir of a writer who is immersing herself in Zen study while maintaining a career as an author and writing instructor. In the book, she reflects upon many aspects of Japanese Buddhism, including, in one passage, what it is that makes a good teacher. The fact that Goldberg is referring to Zen isn't necessarily the point. The skills and ideals are transferable to instructors of any kind.
"That is the work of a teacher, not to get caught in the likes and dislikes of a student, but to come forth always with the deepest teachings. Often the student does not like this, thinks the teacher is mean, unfeeling, but a good teacher knows that if he or she plants a real seed, someday, maybe years later, even in the most ignorant of students the seed may sprout. So the teacher's job is to close the gap between the student's ignorance and the teachings, but often the student does not understand any of this. That is why the student is the student. The teacher understands this. That is why the teacher can have abundant patience."
In the next paragraph the author discusses being a student, and what pushes us to want to expand our minds.
"But if the student doesn't know about the gap, how can she learn? There is something in us, an urgency to meet the teachings on the other side, that gnaws at our ignorance, that desires to meet our own true face, however lazy and comfort-loving we may seem to be. This something was working in me, albeit slowly, and often underground."
As a student of martial arts, I understand this. As a student of life, I also understand this. That is why finding the right teacher is so crucial, no matter what it is you wish to learn. And the responsibility of being a teacher is maybe even more immense. One has to be selfless, patient, and look at everything as a whole. After all, a teacher is really a student as well, as in the end, teaching and learning are one in the same.
 

Overconfidence

Confidence is good. But overconfidence can lead to a disconnect when it comes to real life violence. It is too easy to fall into the trap of thinking aptitude in the dojo means one is automatically safe in the real world.

I've seen this in adults, from time to time, but where I've really noticed it lately is with teenagers who have put in a couple of years, and achieved some level of success when it comes to class. You see the confidence increase, which is good, but sometimes there develops a slight arrogance, and a belief that a high belt colour means you can hold your own with anyone, in any type, of situation. But it's just not true. It's not the way life works.

Unfortunately, sometimes, depending on the student (and to a large degree the teacher), success in the dojo can be comparable to being book smart at school. Good grades don't necessarily mean intelligence outside of the classroom.

Once, for example, I was watching a class where the teenagers were having semi-formal grappling/wrestling matches. A new kid was there, and he, because of his size, was paired up with an experienced brown belt in the class. Everyone was thinking, he's going to get destroyed by the senior student, and the group gathered around in a circle to watch. However, within seconds of the beginning of the match, the new kid pinned the brown belt on the mat and the match was over. And then he did it again.

Luckily, it was just a friendly match in the dojo.

In fairness, most of us who have put in any amount of time training have likely felt increased confidence because of our increased abilities. I get it. But what some students don't yet realize, and it may take many more years of training and real life experience to understand, is that humility needs to be one of the key attributes discovered along the road of training. Use your confidence, but don't waver from caution; don't think yourself invincible, because no one is. After all, if we are to never underestimate an opponent, it means to never overestimate yourself.

Real life violence cannot be duplicated in a dojo for the sake of training. Real violence is ugly and unpredictable. It should be avoided, if possible.

I guess I just worry some of these students, with their new-found confidence, will put themselves in bad situations because of, well, being a bit naive. Because confidence can only take one so far, and some of the book smarts have to be interpreted and/or translated into realistic thinking.

Compassion

Unconditional compassion may be one of the most important qualities a human being can strive to possess. To be selfless is a major key to opening the door to true understanding. I, like everyone else in the world, find this hard at times. I do not have a violent temper or anything like that, but I am human, and humans do not always live up to their true spiritual potential. It's part of the gig. It's part of learning.
“I am good to people who are good. I am also good to people who are not good. Because Virtue is goodness.
I have faith in people who are faithful. I also have faith in people who are not faithful. Because Virtue is faithfulness."
-- Tao Te Ching
Compassion, while to a certain degree natural and latent in us all, sometimes needs to be practised and honed just like any other skill we seek to learn. When we practise a martial art, for example, we expect difficulty and challenges along the way. That's why we practise so hard and so long. Our approach to spirituality should be no different.
"The Art of Peace begins with you. Work on yourself and your appointed task in the Art of Peace."
-- Morihei Ueshiba
And compassion does lead to peace in the end. Sometimes the process feels painfully exhausting, I admit, but our spiritual teachers were definitely onto something when they preached patience and kindness. In reality, anger and frustration merely cloud our minds. They obscure our focus and mental clarity.
"When a delusion like anger is present, we lose control."
-- The Dalai Lama
So although we will invariably fail at times, the pursuit of unconditional compassion is a worthy path to embark upon. It will not only help us fine tune our own spirituality, but it will make us better teachers to those around us as well.
"For hate is not conquered by hate: hate is conquered by love. This is a law eternal."
-- The Dhammapada

Parent-And-Tot Class

I just got in from my first ever parent-and-child karate class. It was great fun, and reminded me of how excited I used to get when my dad would play in the parent-and-child hockey games when I was young. The class was just run like a normal kids class--no tailoring it to be more suitable for parents. I think more clubs should try this type of event. It shows the parents how hard their kids work and why they like to go to the classes in the first place. It's both humbling and a good bonding excercise.
(Now, after class, my son is wiped out and fast asleep in bed. And I'm sure I won't be awake much longer.)

i'd rather quit...

I encountered, this summer, a teacher who made me think: If I had to study under this individual, I'd likely quit the martial arts. That has never happened before. I don't know what this says about me, but I do know what this says about the way this sensei taught. His skills were excellent, but he was belittling and arrogant. He made you feel your attempts were insufficient even when you were trying your best. And although it was all done under the guise of jest, it was still enough to impact the lesson in a negative way.
It takes a lot for me to say something this strong, but the truth is, that I wouldn't want to learn from someone who cares so little for the feelings of his or her students.
Maybe this is a poor attitude on my part, but it makes me appreciate the other teachers and fellow students I have encountered along the way. 

words...

My last class was one of my most important to date. I entered the dojo (I was the only student at class), my sensei and I bowed, and he asked me to sit down on the floor. And for two hours we just talked about martial arts. I learned a lot, and thanked him for such an insightful class... some of the words i will carry with me for a long time...

drawing on experience...

Tell me when this seems familiar....
I do a lot of drawing and art in general. In fact, once a week, on a morning usually stiff and tired from the previous night's training, I attend a drawing class focusing on the human figure (the hardest overall subject to master artistically). Many of the other people there have been going for years, while I've been going the past few months. The work is humbling, yet the small achievements are very fulfilling.
While usually I sit alone and zone out into my own little world, this past week there was not as much room as normal so I set up next to a lady--likely the oldest person in the room. I went to work, creating detailed, intricate sketches which although I liked, I didn't feel were my best pieces. The lady next to me took a keen interest in what I was doing and praised several of my works. She was both sweet and kind.
"A lot of detail," she commented with a knowing smile.
But after awhile, I began to struggle a bit with my images. I was losing the flow and focus of the pictures. So, stepping back from my paper, I decided to watch the older lady, who was using the most simplistic of tools, a paint brush and a pot of ink. I was delighted to see her work: The cleanest lines; the smallest effort; the most accurate depictions. I was in awe at how loosely but confidently her images were formed. I abandoned my own work and just watched her for a long while.
Is it age? We have all witnessed the sensei who, in his/her maturity, whips the student around without effort or folly. We have all been blown away by the master who seems to "know" things no one else does, and utilize his/her tools more effectively than a less experienced individual could ever hope to achieve.
This little woman was like a real life yoda with a brush. She left out so many useless details in order to make a more coherent body of work. And she was teaching me without so much as a word.
Lesson learned.... again. From now on, I sit next to the elder, kind and talented lady and hope to learn a few things from her experience.
It's all so familiar, to me.

what we like and what we need....

Inevitably, when it comes to training, there are aspects we all enjoy more than others. However, we all tend to suffer through the areas we don't like as much to better ourselves all around.
I'm not a fan of weapons (defense I appreciate, but I'm talking about weapons for combat). That said, I often find myself practicing with them.
So here's how I look at it:
- it could happen that in desperation I pick up an object to use in a life or death situation.
- it makes me better understand the attacks so I improve my defense in the process.
- it can't hurt my coordination skills.

I guess this is how I spin it, anyway.
Kata is another area where I do this sort of reasoning with myself. A bit of kata I think is valuable... I think we all can figure out reasons why this is so. However, I find too often I get bogged down in so many forms of it that my head spins like a top.
But what if I only practiced what I like? Would that improve my skills to the level I want them to be at? While sometimes the answer feels like it should be yes, I still trust my teachers, and try to focus on the good that can come from doing the things I don't enjoy.

kids class...

I find myself on Saturday mornings handing my trust--and my son--over to a Sensei of a karate class. I love watching my boy, who is four-and-a-half, and his enthusiasm each time he attends. I respect the Sensei and think he is great with kids.
But it is very strange sitting on the sidelines for me. Not the martial artist side of me, but the parent.
Here are some samples of what goes through my mind (none of which I would have ever imagined myself worrying about, or dwelled upon when I was a child):
- letting him learn etiquette and proper behaviour on his own
- worrying the mats aren't straight and he'll bump his head (and other injuries)
- having trust in his training partners, who are all older than him (but still kids)
- and, of course, him enjoying himself each time
It's funny, because, if I had my gi on, and weren't wearing my parent hat, my perspective would likely be entirely different. I'd maybe push him harder and worry less.
And while that time will come, some day, I really am happiest just watching him. It just takes getting used to a wee bit.

drawing on experience...

Bruce Lee often used hand-drawn sketches to demonstrate combat techniques. Little more than stick figures, his books, such as the Tao of Jeet Kune Do, are filled with these simple renderings.
Although the drawings were printed for the readers' benefit, one cannot help but thinking the originals were notes to himself. It makes me think of many-a-sensei who encourages his/her students to write down what they are taught after class. It may not be so much for future reference as the process helps clarify and commit to memory the technique in the present.
I have been meaning to use sketches this way for awhile now. I feel the process of analyzing the technique--posture, stance, etc.--even as stick figures will help form a better understanding for myself, as a visual thinker, as opposed to a written, linear form.
I will hopefully post some of these in the near future, if nothing else as a good chuckle at my artistic abilities.

words...

"Watch for anger of the body: let your body be self-controlled. Hurt not with the body, but use your body well.
Watch for anger of words: let your words be self-controlled. Hurt not with words, but use your words well." -- The Dhammapada
The first part, not using unnecessary violence, is well known to most practitioners of martial arts. The second, I feel, is a beneficial outcome of a martially disciplined mind.
Words can damage as much as a fist; they cannot be taken back--just like a punch thrown at a target. Most people think this means aggressive, rudely phrased words--yelling and screaming. But in truth, subtle quips, negative comments, and frequent jests can erode another's self worth over time.
A teacher must be aware of this; a student, a friend, a parent, or a spouse.
In a dojo setting, for example, this does not mean giving endless praise to one's students. Nor should a training partner have only non-critical words for his/her partner. However, I have known many individuals who have stopped doing something they loved because of words either said or not said.
"Speak the truth, yield not to anger, give what you can to him who asks..."

the new guy...

Mind expanding.

This is how I would describe my recent visit to another dojo.

Invited to train with a friend, I showed up despite the great differences between our background and styles. It was challenging for me. At times, I found myself right at home, and at other times, I was stretching to remember the techniques. And while many things about the techniques I liked a lot, there were a few I wasn't as keen on. But nonetheless, by trying different styles, my mind and understanding are forced to expand.

A nice aspect for me was that the instructor was fine with my ingrained habits and default movements. He didn't see a need to change these, rather he suggested meshing them with what he was teaching (for example, often my finishing techniques varied from the rest of the class, or I'd grab under an arm instead of over it).

Another thing I realized was that my prerequisite for training in another dojo was as much based on the people there than the techniques taught. With the right people, one can learn something in any situation.

And while home will always be home, checking out different dojos is definitely something worthwhile.

The Beginning....

My eldest son has taken a shine to the martial arts (at least his new white belt and gi). While it has been fun doing some basics with him, and letting him have a laugh while rolling about, it makes me reflect upon what I should eventually teach him, and what to omit--for now.

He promises that what I show him will not be used on brothers, friends, parents, etc. Nonetheless, I am really only showing him blocks, front kicks and open palm strikes on the punching bag. And usually, the whole thing ends up being about me throwing him "judo style" onto the couch. (He's just four, after all).

But the real question I have is twofold: 1) What's the balance between defense/fun/and safety for his age and a bit older.

2) What style would I introduce him to first. (Of course he'll be invited to formally train with me at some point--and my own style is my first choice for my own defense--but I don't really think all the techniques we learn are suitable until he's old enough to realize the serious nature of the techniques).

He seems to find basic karate and judo enjoyable. And maybe these are a perfect start, as both are solid--especially together--and can be adapted/expanded into other arts such as aikido, jui-jitsu, or whatever he likes.

For now, however, his training will be some fun basics and some couch throws. Learning by having fun is the best method at this age, and to be honest, I like it, as well.

I'm just thinking ahead, that's all.

*note: I once listened to an Ojibwa elder tell a story about the "old days" and about a group of seven-year-olds practicing their bow skills in the woods. He added, "We had no problem letting kids have these responsibilities, and as a result of our trust, they took the weapons more seriously."

The roundhouse and the three wood.....

A tip I once heard--for golfers--is to go to the driving range and practice hitting balls without wearing spiked golf shoes. Seems like nothing, right?

The idea is to be aware of balance. When a golfer swings too hard without spikes, his/her feet will spin, and the shot will be off the mark. The result of the drill is to maintain a slower, smoother swing, with more balance and precision.

I like to think about this as it relates to self defense training. Usually, all of us do repetitive kicks, strikes, kata, on a flat, consistent surface. This is good when learning and honing form, but rarely are circumstances outside the dojo so perfect.

So, try the golf exercise. Go out onto the lawn and try all your kicks. It is very easy to see how a roundhouse could leave you spinning onto your butt. Try it when the grass is damp. It's even harder.

The result, just as the golf drill, will be a better awareness of balance and tempo.

Dojo Rules...

"The dojo is a sanctuary. It is a place, when you walk through the doors, that everything outside ceases to exist. No problems, no worries, no judgments made by those around you.

I couldn't care less what other dojo's do. I couldn't care less about any of their politics or how their students act. This is how it is here." -- My Sensei

Of Action and Regret....

"That samurai was right who refused to compromise his character by a slight humiliation in his youth; 'because,' he said, 'dishonour is like a scar on a tree, which time, instead of effacing, only helps to enlarge.'"

Ah yes, once again the words of Inazo Nitobe's Bushido.

This paragraph deserves some thought. Although the original context is discussing the role of shame, and how this emotion is the basis of all moral behaviour and honour, the scarred tree analogy goes so much further. We all have such wounds that have increased over time rather than diminished. Some are based in matters of confidence; some are in areas of relationships; and some are based in more tangible and physical injuries that we ignored until they spiralled out of control.

Technically speaking, these imperfections are the result of improper understanding and/or teaching, that start out as tiny bad habits, eventually to become glaring weaknesses. This is why accomplished martial artists still listen to constructive criticism. It is why the best athletes in the world still rely on professional coaching.

In this case, dishonour could be interpreted as a lack of humility among one's peers. Or in the misjudged abilities of an adversary.

It could be rooted in a dishonest self-perception, individually, or as a society that puts humanity on a pedestal separate from the natural world.

This is why all actions are best examined closely, lest regret becomes the growing scar on the tree.

the door

Here's something that caught my attention.
I was recently in a store and noticed a mother and her teenage daughter entering through the front door.
The teenager carelessly let the heavy door fling back and bump her mother's shoulder, who in turn sighed irritably.
Said the mother:
"Don't you know that you should never just let go of a door? Come on. My hands were in my pockets. I taught you better than that..."
The daughter, embarrassed, apologized and I heard the mom grumbling as they walked away.
And I thought to myself, it's true, the daughter should have been more aware. More considerate.
But really, the mother was unaware of the true lesson of this event: that she was actually teaching her daughter that it's okay to follow people through doors with your hands in your pockets.

the Stubborn Warrior

Before Yoda there was author Carlos Castaneda and his Yaqui sage Don Juan Matus.

In the books, the old shaman is constantly trying to teach the younger man to expand his mind and break away from the social conditioning of his past in order to gain true insight into the world.

But the student is stubborn, and keeps finding excuses to hinder his own progress. He likens himself, and his resulting sorrow, to that of a leaf being blown by the wind.

And so he is chastised.

"The hardest thing in the world is to assume the mood of a warrior," (Don Juan) said. "It is of no use to be sad and complain and feel justified in doing so, believing that someone is always doing something to us. Nobody is doing anything to anybody, much less a warrior.

"You are here, with me, because you want to be here. You should have assumed full responsibility by now, so the idea that you are at the mercy of the wind should be inadmissible."

Castaneda gained a big New Age following with these stories that continues today. I think part of the reason for the popularity is the author's subtle parallels of wisdom between the indigenous cultures of both east and west (it provides an almost zen-like tradition based in the Arizona desert). For me, the whole student and teacher theme, explored in many a legend and parable, is more than just a literal description of knowledge being passed between the old and the young. To me, it reflects the concept of the Higher Self communicating with the intellectual self.

Breaking it down....

Having reviewed and discussed the recent seminar material at my home dojo, it is always amazing to me how much impact tiny adjustments can make.

"It's what he doesn't show you that really makes the technique," my sensei said regarding the material. I knew we were to steal some of the secrets on our own, but how subtle the changes can be is, as I said, surprising.

For example, a quarter-inch adjustment on the grip of a figure-four wrist lock can change a fairly painful control technique into one of huge pain in a hurry. A subtle move into to a sanchin stance can be the powerful anchor required for a choke that felt a bit off-balance at first.

It's all enlightening, yet, it serves to remind me of how much analysis is needed of every technique we learn. And how much more always seems to lay under the surface of the art in general.

It also makes me wonder how long it would take for me to steal the technique if my sensei weren't so liberal when it comes to sharing his knowledge. It could be months or years, rather than hours. However, he believes we should get all the information from the start, rather than fixing bad habits later on in our journey. I appreciate this approach.

That said, I know he only gradually adds his Qi Gong experience to our jui-jitsu knowledge-base, leaving us a good but mysterious trail of bread crumbs to follow. But I guess internal arts must be self-realized, after all.

I remember when I started as his student over three years ago. He said it will take a student two years to even understand how to strike properly. And sure enough, despite a basic grasp of the proper method of striking the entire time, after two years something just clicked-in and my power and efficiency dramatically increased.

No doubt it was all an evolution of very subtle and minor changes to both my application and internal energy.