Push The Bag

We do an exercise with the little kids where they have to push the bags. We adults hold kick shields in front of us, the kids have to push us up and down the dojo. When they "get stuck" (i.e., we resist), we encourage them and laugh with them, or gently cajole them, whatever they need. When we make huge progress (i.e., we take several steps backward so they feel like they got a really strong push) we celebrate and congratulate.

Push The Bag one of the more time-consuming activities, but it's easily one of my faves because we are encouraging them the whole time, no matter what happens.

We encourage one another in the dojo no matter what happens. It just so happens that during Push The Bag we get to do a whole lot of it, one-on-one, which really improves our relationship with that one child. It's special to me.

Nothing big and profound today to write about, just this nice thing.

Bottom line: Respect Others, Respect Where You Come From, Respect Yourself.

A woman held a Japanese-style tea party for her daughter's birthday. She wrote it up in a blog post (https://thegalagals.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/japanese-tea-party/). Years later her blog was reposted on Tumblr, and was soon under fire for cultural appropriation. 

A Japanese person responded with exemplary kindness:

Unexpectedly, and having studied Japanese culture and language for half my life, it's become a part of who I am, how I see things, and how I carry myself. Strict adherence of Goju Ryu karate to Japanese (well, Okinawan) culture has reinforced and strengthened that aspect of me.

Yesterday I unwittingly bowed in Japanese style to a nurse as she left, while I thanked her for coming in Korean language. She smiled and said, "ah, you bow to thank me, that's a nice Japanese tradition!" I think she was trying to politely tell me that they don't bow that way in Korea--a very tasteful way to impart that cultural point! I told her it's because I've grown up with Japanese culture and don't even realize I'm doing it anymore. We had a good laugh and she said, "Sayonara!"

America does not have a culture. Compared to much of the rest of the world, America has a young and manufactured national identity. We have only begun to forge traditions of our own, and have not yet existed long enough for them to be time-honoured. In fact, to come to America an immigrant even has to renounce their culture and language, called naturalization. This has never sat well with me. What values do we offer them? The nondescript word, "Freedom," maybe hot dogs, and that's about it.

My mother taught me to value English language and writing skills because that's what families do when they immigrate to America. She didn't teach me to value English because it was beautiful, or because America had a legacy of protecting its linguistic heritage (as do France and Iceland, for example). It's just what we did because we lived in America, and her grandmother had to work hard to learn English. As my mother taught me how to read she would often recount the day her grandmother had finally acquired enough English to read the newspaper.

Beyond that, I was acculturated as Italian-American, not just American. The way I learned to live, be, and see myself is through the lens of "how it was done in the Ol' Country." Family is all you have. Learn to pronounce your foods in Italian. Learn the Italian sayings. Grate your cheese in the cellar. Bake enough bread to share. To my bottomless regret, my grandparents never taught us to speak their Sicilian dialect because they didn't want the children to understand what the adults were saying. The Italian dictionary was useless.

Mix all that in with spending summers in Canada, which speaks English but still requires French. Add in the holiday visits from Jimmy The Greek and his tremendous spreads of Greek food laid out for us. 

This cultural mélange taught me that English isn't all that important, there are lots of ways to say the same thing. The key is to make sure communication is taking place, and that you understand other people's cultures.

America is the jackpot in a global roulette game in terms of what kind of person you'll meet next. Culture is how you are brought up to be, and is inextricably linked to identity. Why would we not want to celebrate that? How could anyone wish to homogenize that? Who of sound mind and good nature thinks that's a good idea?

No, I will never condone blackface, or the Redskins, or the word cracker. But I'll practice the Native American custom of thanking animals for their sacrifice; I'll give reverence for black Americans who endured the Civil Rights Movement and lived to tell about it, and I might just bow when someone leaves my house. I promise to never take on a novel custom to make a spectacle of it. I also promise to never stop exploring other cultures to learn about how I can better understand others and grow as a person.

Where do you draw lines between cultural appreciation and appropriation? What do those terms mean to you?

Bottom line: Respect Others, Respect Where You Come From, Respect Yourself.

Nests, Eggs, and Winters

My friends and I visit a Buddhist temple each August to pay respects to Atom, our dearly departed brother, brother-in-law, and friend. One year, as we sat on the back porch with the Abbess Dai-En-Sensei I pointed out a bird's nest, and got a good lesson about dreams deferred, about the choices a parent has to make. The story was not intended as a lesson, it was just table talk. Such is the care with which Dai-En-San chooses her words--a listener can't help but grow.

Last fall a mother bird lay her eggs in that nest. It was too cold for them to survive on their own, so she had to stay and keep them warm. If she stayed to keep them warm, she would starve to death. If she starved to death, there would be no one to feed the eggs when they hatched. and they would die. So, she had to let them go and take care of herself, but she could lay new eggs.

Parents have to decide what to provide for their children. Throughout the world families come up short and parents watch their children go without the bare necessities. In other situations a family might be well able to provide for their child, but they have to decide whether to proceed with the child's birth, given that the child will suffer tremendous pain and ultimately an untimely death. Lately, some families have nobly chosen to have those babies anyway, in order to donate the organs to other babies in need. There are so many different types of families and struggles, but the story gives me some hope.

I can't safely carry children of my own, and though it is possible, my children would have a 50% chance of inheriting Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. The plan between my ex-wife and me had been that she would carry the children. She left to pursue those dreams with someone else and I was a wreck. Without wanting to I go over in my heart how old the baby would have been, what they would be doing at this age, and so on. It haunts my dreams and my days. But as the marriage had become saturated with untruths, it's better that those eggs never hatched. But I have no idea what lies ahead.

Reproduction is one of the fundamental biological properties of life, so I try to go easy on myself for having a visceral desire to raise children, even though I know it would be very hard for me to do. I would not be alone in doing the work, though.

My own struggles with having a family are a part of what brings me to karate. I love working with the children on weekends. I haven't been able to do it for several months and I miss them. When I work with our children in the dojo I watch them walk out the door with their mommies and daddies. After my wife left I had to step out to my car to scream as the tears and snot flooded my face. I retched from the stress and heaving, it was a lonely time. I still hold back my tears when I work with the kids, but it's gotten a little easier after four years.

All the same, I love watching them grow and learn. I feel myself connecting with them as they tell me their thoughts and stories. I feel their trust in me and in our school, a safe space for them to learn and grow. A lot of families make big sacrifices of time and resources to be able to bring their children to karate, so I want to give everything I can offer to benefit them.

Today is Mother's Day. It's a hard day for me. But I'll see my own mother in a few weeks and I look forward to that time together, I'm still her baby bird.

Happy Mother's Day to those celebrating. Gentle thoughts of caring and comfort to those not.

Higaonna Morio-Sensei and the Teaching Life

I would imagine Higaonna-Sensei, being a humble and quiet man, has had to do a lot of soul searching to feel comfortable with being in so many photos and videos. I'll bet that, at some point, he made the decision that he would have to allow himself to become widely known and loved all over the globe, because he had a message to teach and a promise to keep for his own Sensei. I'll bet he's had to be careful not to abuse his power or take advantage of the privilege that he's been afforded.

If he's anything like the teachers I know, he's also given up countless experiences, freedoms, and luxuries that come with the poverty that teachers often incur, with everything they earn going​ back to their students.

I wish there were a way for me to see Higaonna-Sensei again. I miss him a lot. I would tell him all about how my Sensei is careful to follow his work, how in our school we pay attention to character as much as to technique. I would tell him that I'm still loving karate and that I'm doing fine. I would tell him that I'm even more enthusiastic now about karate than I was when I began, and that it's led me to a healthier and happier life.

Most of all, I would thank him for all he's recorded and written to officiate the legacy of Goju Ryu Karate-Do, that we are listening.

Higaonna-Sensei's Time

I dreamt that Higaonna-Sensei visited my dojo on my testing day. He looked so healthy, happy, and energetic that I kept my nervousness about testing in front of him under control because staying calm and collected in times of conflict is his #1 lesson.

In my dream I passed to my 2-kyu, but he had much to say about what improvements I needed to make. He gave me a technical analysis of what to modify so that my disabilities weren't in the way of my efficacy. He a gave me strict feedback about where I was clearly getting in my own way for fear of injury or fainting.

How I wish I could remember anything he'd said! We spoke mostly in Japanese and I was preoccupied with translating, and with not getting overwhelmed by how generous he was in his time with me, when there are so many people who would kill for that kind of time with him. The only way I could focus was to know that the only way to honour those people was for me to focus, work extremely hard, and to do everything I knew to make Higaonna-Sensei happy with his student. I received a glut of his time and attention.

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This has got to be, in part, a manifestation of how I felt during MCF2014 in Tampa, Florida, USA. I'd had a number of difficulties and was driven to tears several times from the complications.

On the first morning of training I had accidentally come to black belt training. I arrived late, so I wheeled to the back and parked my chair against the wall, doing gentle juunbi undo (karate warm-ups) and trying not to draw attention as the karateka in the wheelchair with lights on it. Nakamura-Sensei politely informed me that this was the black belt class and I'd read the schedule wrong, but he invited me to sit and watch, which I did, soon finding myself a fish out of water. I was 5-kyu at the time, a blue belt.

The day before I found myself sitting in the dining room of the hotel at the table next to the senior instructors. Higaonna-Sensei and I faced each other from our respective tables and exchanged informal head bows, with smiles throughout our meals. I knew who he was and now I knew he was curious about who I was. At the time the only other wheelchair user I'd ever heard of was John Marrable-Sensei in New Zealand. I'd only seen Marrable-Sensei in pictures, but I knew he was out there in the big world, and from his representation I gained infinite gusto about representing myself in my wheelchair to break barriers and stigma.

Within seconds of Nakamura-Sensei's invitation Higaonna-Sensei walked up to me, cutting right through the lines, all the way from the front of the class. He did not rush, and his face was neutral. He did not look at other students as he walked, but came straight to me. We bowed. With no delay he held out his hands. They were covered in scars, knobs of arthritic and glycated tissue, and dry patches where I presume blood and water could no longer compete with the chronic assaults on the capillaries that carry nutrients to the surfaces of his hands.

"Whatever you do, do it a hundred times," he said, as he rapidly opened and closed his massive paws into fists. "every day. Then you will be strong. Just one hundred times. Okay, good."

Just as quickly as he came he was gone, back to teaching the black belts.

Later, outside in the Florida sun, we were taking photos with him and with students from our respective countries and I passed out from the heat. A fellow karateka happened to be a paramedic and helped me inside to safety. I collapsed on a patch of floor off to the side of the stairs and he helped me start my IV pump. It became apparent that I had worried Higaonna-Sensei because he came to me when he was through with photos, an entourage behind him, to see if I was recovering okay. When he saw that I was in good hands he gave me two thumbs up and went on with his day.

It isn't easy to be "the one in the wheelchair." It can feel like I'm getting extra attention I don't deserve, and like I'm taking away from other students. Someone's I just have to be humble about it, other times I have to fight for it to get my own needs met. It's important for the instructor to be aware of your needs, especially in matters of safety, but also in matters of equally access.

Higaonna-Sensei teaches so many people that he can't possibly get to know all of us. And yet, he took much time to meet with me, to talk with me, and he even asked Nakamura-Sensei to take a picture of us so I would have one. "You look like you are having fun, I see you smiling when you practice," he said.

How I wish I could see him again. I wish he could see how much stronger I am. I wish he could know all that my Sensei has done for me, how Goju Ryu has changed my life, thanks to his proliferation of the practice.

We only get so much time on this earth. May we all use it to change and improve lives.

Taking Risks

Because my Sensei taught me how to do knuckle push-ups correctly I can use that skill to get up from the floor without dislocating my fingers, hands, and wrists. This is why it's important to let vulnerable people try new things and take risks that directly affect them. Instead of getting hurt, I got better, and I solved a very big problem in the process.

A month will have passed since I last attended karate class because I'm moving to a new place, a car load at a time, each day. The ridiculously slow pace of moving has worked out well for my body and kept me able to work the next day. The help has made all the difference, as I am not required to risk lifting or stair climbing with my hands full.

I am trying hard to keep this blog about karate but other elements leak into it. Let's see where this goes. I promise to bring it back around.

If I get hurt in karate I can afford medical care to respond and recover. This enables me to take risks and learn new skills that improve my life. I fall less, bump into doors less, dislocate less, exercise more, and I am more compliant with meds, physical therapy, and splinting. I manage my fatigue more efficiently, participate in social activities, and have a greater overall sense of wellness, all thanks to karate.

Without ACA I am worried about my health. More accurately, I am worried I won't be able to afford my health. It cost me $28/day for saline infusions before ACA, not including my other meds and care. ACA has helped me stay alive, get healthier, and live more independently than ever in my life. I know changes will help some people, but I'm afraid for myself.

People say "[Trump] will probably leave the disability part alone" but if he's repealing maternity care stipulations I'm not so optimistic. It's not even possible to plan for how catastrophic it will be if I lose Medicaid. Before ACA I had to liquidate my retirement to pay medical expenses. I was considering the guaranteed poverty of SSDI and retiring on disability because it was cheaper than working full-time as a tax-paying contributor.

We'll see what happens. I'm trying not to panic, worry has never done me a lick of good. But planning has, and I have no way to plan for what will be financially irreconcilable, based not on fear-mongering about how bad a President Trump will be, but on past experience of how bad things can truly get.

It's bound to have an impact on my karate. I feel like I've got one more year to try everything I want to try, and then I'll have to practice like I'm made of porcelain. Therefore, I'd better hurry up and finish moving so I can get back to the dojo.

In life I've learned not to avoid fear, but karate has honed my skill to also not be unrealistic about what fear is trying to show me. Fear is trying to show me that something may change, that if I can prepare, I should. But if I cannot prepare, I can at least be ready to respond. There is always good work to do, there is always a positive way to respond--even when I'm not happy about it, which is when it matters the most.

Change is a given. It is said to be the thing people fear most. Therefore, as a veteran of change on all levels of life, I am not afraid of much. But I am afraid of the ACA repeal. So what can I do? I can practice zanshin, residual awareness. I can be ready to respond, even if I'm not sure to what, or how to do it just yet.

Trump is taking a gigantic risk, and he's gambling with other people's money, health, lives. In karate I take risks with my own health, not on others'. But my risks are good risks, carefully considered and closely monitored by outsiders with more experience. Even then, I still consider how others will be affected if I get hurt while working with a partner, or on a team. They may feel sad for me, or worry that they hurt me, and that can cut deeply for people with high sensitivity.

There is no silver bullet to fixing health care in America, no matter what side you're on. We have to work through it together. Seeing things get worse will only strengthen our resolve to make things better, but there will be many casualties in the process and I hope I will not become not one of them.

It will be okay. But first, and perhaps for a long time, it will be not okay. How to get through will be a matter of trial and error, like the thousands of kicks it takes to get one great blow, and even that one can be improved.

Goju Ryu 2-kyu Test Coming Up

I got the invitation to grade for my 2-kyu belt. I am so nervous that I can't stop impulse-studying. That is, I tune out from the world around me at different points throughout the day just to check my notes or replay a video.

For example, I've always struggled *hard* to remember kihon bunkai (basic applications). I never really know which ones I've got down. I know that's not everything, but I feel tremendous pressure to have excellent knowledge of technique to accommodate for what my body cannot adequately demonstrate. Sequencing has always been one of my greatest challenges, making math difficult. After I've practiced karate for a time I won't need to rely so heavily on kihon bunkai, I'll just be able to move from one concept to the next.

At every grading prior I've asked myself, "is my Sensei sure I'm ready for this?" and have learned to trust his judgement. He knows what he's looking for. He now has a well-developed eye for what my limits are, and gives better-than-ever feedback. I know myself better and am getting better at making decisions on when to push and when to ease up.

At some point I have to accept that I'm not going to be absolutely lethal as are many others at my level. They have prior training, combat experience, military experience, and mostly functioning bodies. But I will keep going; I have every intention of being just as steady and ready as they are.

The belt is not the point. The belt is there to help us identify what we know. The belt colour helps us grow consistently with one another and enables us to be more careful with beginning students. There are many compelling reasons for a belt colour system, but my proudest belt remains my white belt. Getting started was the hardest test of my willingness and perseverance, especially because I'd been deathly ill for several years prior. Now that I'm in, I just want to practice.

The belt test also comes with an increased responsibility. Senpai, higher ranking students, have opportunities to set good examples for kohai, junior students. The test is an opportunity to show everything you've got to your Sensei who has been watching you grow and now wants to take a closer look at his own efficacy as a trainer with you. The belt test means a lot.

Of course I'm terrified of the shodan black belt test, just two tests away. I've heard horror stories. But nobody has died from it and I won't, either. I've never been a good test taker, though I have always taken tests seriously and have studied hard. Often, though, I surprise myself when the pressure is on. I've come to enjoy taking tests. Even if I fail I will learn a definitive set of information that tells me what I know and what I don't know.

Attitude is everything, so pick a good one.