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was a little fellow, between five and seven years old. He carried around all
the culture of strength little boys have inside their imaginations – dinosaurs,
tigers, Spiderman, Ironman. Images that would inspire awe and notice in bigger
people.
Those I-would-like-to-be-like-that kind of images. Images of power for the powerless.
Those I-would-like-to-be-like-that kind of images. Images of power for the powerless.
His
parents told him to bow at the door to the Dojo. I’m sure he understood right away
that bowing wasn’t what anyone else did, that it was a special sign, and if he
participated in the ritual, it would make him special too.
He
looked at me from across the Dojo, a distance of light years separating age,
size and experience. Much of the world isn’t designed for little people: door
handles are somewhere up there to reach if you want to go outside to play; cars get you to where you want to
go only if you have a bigger person driving; bedtime and TV time and when you
can eat are all organized from the outside.
Where
you go, where you live, whom you live with…those things are all beyond your
reach. A couple of angry weeks between Mom and Dad, and you’re gone, your hand
in the hand of one or the other. To a new town, to a new school, to try to make
new friends if the kids at the new school will let you.
And
somewhere in between fear is bolted into you along with not caring anymore or
anger which can’t be articulated well at all because you don’t have the
language resources never mind the experience to make others listen, sincerely
and over the long term.
I
closed the distance by high-fiving him and pegging myself right down, somewhere
in an ego-comfort zone just below his chin.
“How
old are you?”
“I’m
five.”
“We’ll
I’m three, and I just got out of daycare!”
We
don’t slam kids who misbehave in class with hostile yelling and a ton of push
ups. Anyway, would it have helped in his case? He was mildly autistic and had
some speech problems. I’m not a therapist but along the way I figured out that
pushing a kid up against a wall isn’t going to make him a model citizen. Far
from it.
Allow
me to digress for a second. Several years ago, a little boy joined one of my
kids’ classes. He ran ‘round and ‘round the floor as though his pants were on
fire. Certainly his need for attention was incendiary. I called him over, leaned
forward and whispered in his ear: “Some of the moms over there are starting to
think you’re a diaper boy. You know, kind of silly. I know you’re not. I know
you’re a fighter, a soldier. Here, stand straight like this with your chin up.
Like a soldier.”
A
few years later, he actually teaches in my classes. He teaches other kids to stand
the same way. They see him as a role model.
Back
to my new five year old friend. We created a caring atmosphere for him. We
allowed his ego to flex a little, we made the Dojo his place, as well as a
place to share with other little kids. His feelings were important to us which
was why he needed to stand up straight and look people directly in their eyes. He
was important. Without him, there couldn’t be a class.
We
have three year olds who shout: “I never give up!” He was doing the same, and
he was paying attention, and practising at home. In other words, he felt good
about what he was doing.
When
I told him that he was testing for his Yellow Belt, I added: “Do you want a hard
test or a baby test?”
“I
want a Superman test!”
Yellow…Yellow
Stripe…Orange. After he earned his Orange Belt, I told him: “I’m giving you
five White Belts. You go over there and show them how to punch.”
Speech?
Autism? He was soon standing in front of the entire class showing them the
mechanics of a kick, describing each move down
to the finest detail.
Last
week, I did the same with a four year old. She took charge of a two and a half
year old. Of course, I monitored, providing the odd suggestion. Nevertheless,
the four year old was teaching like a veteran, meticulously…and with a caring
attitude.
Where
do all these examples lead? Give a child the space, and provide her or him with
the resources, let the child lead, and that child’s abilities will develop and
grow.
I’m
not a genius with kids’ classes. I just follow a simple line – martial arts
training is oxygen for kids. That’s it. Let them breathe, out front where they
belong. I tell my ten year old helpers that we’re in the business of changing
lives for the better and no one looks at me cross-eyed. They’re familiar with
that oxygen, and they understand that there’s enough to go around.
PS: the band Radiohead has a knack of bringing out the sometimes floating realities that add up to being a child. Listen especially to the famous album KID A and the track "How To Disappear Completely". Don't forget Virginia Woolf and The Waves. For the cross-echoes of children's minds and voices, try the novels of Marie-Claire Blais
PS: the band Radiohead has a knack of bringing out the sometimes floating realities that add up to being a child. Listen especially to the famous album KID A and the track "How To Disappear Completely". Don't forget Virginia Woolf and The Waves. For the cross-echoes of children's minds and voices, try the novels of Marie-Claire Blais
Sensei you are a genius with kids' classes. I love watching your style and always take something away to use with my students. Thank you for be in touch with the needs of all children. I was touched by the way a timid 4 year old reached up took your hand and your encouraged the other students to give her a hug because "strong fighters have big hearts."
ReplyDeleteA sincere thank you for your comment. We've got to give the kids a chance to practise empathy, and lots of it, and show them that empathy empowers, not brutality.
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