“If you run into a wall, don’t turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.”
— Michael Jordan, legendary basketball player
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Pleasure and Pain of Self-Defense Instruction
Today I understand a little more about the meaning of the word bittersweet.
I’m mainly a youth Taekwondo instructor, but I also teach simple yet effective women’s self-defense strategies and techniques. And times as these make me feel both proud and sad about passing on this important knowledge to others. I’m honored to teach women to use their five weapons (two hands, two feet, and their voice) to protect themselves. But I shouldn’t have to teach women to enforce boundaries or to fight back when accosted. Their boundaries should never be invaded and they never should be touched unless invited.
On New Year’s Eve in Austin, three women were attacked—one of them murdered. Police officials believe one man is responsible for all the assaults.
Our community has been shaken, and as a result, Moy Yat Ving Tsun Kung Fu Academy decided to offer two months of free self-defense classes to any woman who wants to learn to protect herself. I’ve been hanging out at the school on Tuesday nights, so I decided to help. All of a sudden, a whirlwind ensued:
• A FOX News reporter and cameraman came by the school on Monday to film a piece on our free classes offer. (www.myfoxaustin.com/dpp/video/Free-Self-Defense-Class-Offered-In-Wake-Of-Attacks20120109-ktbcw-#axzz1j4i7dDEH)
• The next day, Sifu Aaron Vyvial and I were invited to do a live demonstration during the news station’s morning show.
• And last night, we had a full house—women from all ages, sizes, races, and financial statuses eager to feel safe and strong again.
These are all wonderful things—except that a woman’s dead. Her friends and family are grieving. It will take a lot of time for the two women who survived the New Year’s Eve attacks to heal from the trauma. And the perpetrator is still out there.
Tragic events like this boost enrollment in self-defense classes (and the sale of mace and guns). But it never feels good. I can’t speak for other instructors, but I can’t enjoy the moments in the spotlight. Yes, I guess it’s nice to be on television (my mom and dad were proud), but I’m not happy about it. The reason I did it was to reach the women who won’t come into our school. If they saw the TV spot, the morning show, or the uncut YouTube video of my time with the reporter, they may remember some things that may just save their life.
I’m in a serious business. My job is to try to help build confidence, strength, and an explosive and relentless fighting spirit in women so that (God forbid) if they’re ever attacked, they’ll have options. They’ll have a choice. Maybe they’ll even sense an attack coming and thwart it completely.
I’m proud of what I do, and so grateful and honored to do it. But today, it doesn’t feel very good.
Today, it’s bittersweet.
----------
Know a woman who needs and wants to learn effective
self-defense strategies and techniques? Visit http://www.txkungfu.com/ or call 512.680.4535.
Moy Yat Ving Tsun Kung Fu Academy is located at
2105 Justin Lane, Suite 111, Austin, TX 78757.
I’m mainly a youth Taekwondo instructor, but I also teach simple yet effective women’s self-defense strategies and techniques. And times as these make me feel both proud and sad about passing on this important knowledge to others. I’m honored to teach women to use their five weapons (two hands, two feet, and their voice) to protect themselves. But I shouldn’t have to teach women to enforce boundaries or to fight back when accosted. Their boundaries should never be invaded and they never should be touched unless invited.
On New Year’s Eve in Austin, three women were attacked—one of them murdered. Police officials believe one man is responsible for all the assaults.
Our community has been shaken, and as a result, Moy Yat Ving Tsun Kung Fu Academy decided to offer two months of free self-defense classes to any woman who wants to learn to protect herself. I’ve been hanging out at the school on Tuesday nights, so I decided to help. All of a sudden, a whirlwind ensued:
• A FOX News reporter and cameraman came by the school on Monday to film a piece on our free classes offer. (www.myfoxaustin.com/dpp/video/Free-Self-Defense-Class-Offered-In-Wake-Of-Attacks20120109-ktbcw-#axzz1j4i7dDEH)
• The next day, Sifu Aaron Vyvial and I were invited to do a live demonstration during the news station’s morning show.
• And last night, we had a full house—women from all ages, sizes, races, and financial statuses eager to feel safe and strong again.
These are all wonderful things—except that a woman’s dead. Her friends and family are grieving. It will take a lot of time for the two women who survived the New Year’s Eve attacks to heal from the trauma. And the perpetrator is still out there.
Tragic events like this boost enrollment in self-defense classes (and the sale of mace and guns). But it never feels good. I can’t speak for other instructors, but I can’t enjoy the moments in the spotlight. Yes, I guess it’s nice to be on television (my mom and dad were proud), but I’m not happy about it. The reason I did it was to reach the women who won’t come into our school. If they saw the TV spot, the morning show, or the uncut YouTube video of my time with the reporter, they may remember some things that may just save their life.
I’m in a serious business. My job is to try to help build confidence, strength, and an explosive and relentless fighting spirit in women so that (God forbid) if they’re ever attacked, they’ll have options. They’ll have a choice. Maybe they’ll even sense an attack coming and thwart it completely.
I’m proud of what I do, and so grateful and honored to do it. But today, it doesn’t feel very good.
Today, it’s bittersweet.
----------
Know a woman who needs and wants to learn effective
self-defense strategies and techniques? Visit http://www.txkungfu.com/ or call 512.680.4535.
Moy Yat Ving Tsun Kung Fu Academy is located at
2105 Justin Lane, Suite 111, Austin, TX 78757.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
The Boy With Lifesaving Focus
PARTICIPATION AWARD WINNER!
2011 Taekwondo Essay Contest, Sponsored by the Embassy of the Republic of KOREA
With blond, stringy locks and deep blue eyes, 7-year-old Stephen ricocheted into my martial arts school one spring day almost two years ago, excited that he was going to learn how to kick and punch.
He had no clue that learning Taekwondo would have such a lifesaving impact.
Neither did I.
When I met his mom, Sandra, I noticed how remarkably fatigued she seemed. Deflated in a way. With two younger daughters in tow, she leaned against the doorway to my office as if needing rest, then told me her son had recently been diagnosed with ADHD. Doctors recommended he study martial arts. After Stephen left the office to join other students in before-class games, Sandra told me his story:
• He struggles to stay on task
• He gets easily agitated
• His younger sisters are usually the target of his outbursts
“He has trouble getting along with his sisters,” she said. “We’re not sure if he has Asperger’s syndrome. He still needs to undergo additional tests.”
I nodded gently. She wasn’t the first parent I’d met whose child struggled with ADD/ADHD and emotional control. But she didn’t know that. I could tell she felt very alone.
“I’ve worked with a lot of students with ADHD and even Asperger’s,” I said, trying to reassure her.
“Does this (martial arts) work for everyone?” she asked in a pleading way.
“Yes, if I have the parents’ backing,” I replied reassuringly, “I’ve had very positive results.”
She nodded, sighed, and seemed to relax a bit. At the same time, though, I could tell she was trying not to get her hopes up.
In his trial class, Stephen did what every ADHD kid does: ask a million questions.
• How long did it take you to get your black belt?
• Are those weapons? Can I touch them?
• When can I get a cool uniform like yours?
• Hey, what do the stripes on everyone’s belts mean?
Of course, he never took a breath between questions, and he never really gave me a chance to answer him before his mind hop-scotched to the next thought. But that’s the ADHD way: ask, ask, ask.
Stephen was thin and looked a bit frail until he got out on the dojang floor. Once on the mat, the kid had unending energy. Right away, though, I noticed that he resisted saying “yes, ma’am,” “no ma’am,” or “thank you, ma’am.” I insist that students show respect in the dojang, though. Stephen would be no exception. I thought we would have a war of wills, but Stephen surprised me. He caught on by watching his classmates (hip, hip, hurrah for peer pressure) and, although a bit begrudgingly, soon began responding with “yes, ma’ams.” He did it because he was enjoying the heck out of kicking paddles and punching targets. He was having a blast, so showing respect wasn’t such a hard sell. But showing respect at home didn’t come so natural to Stephen.
And of course, that’s where he needed to show respect the most.
After Stephen’s trial lesson, his blond bangs were clumped and heavy with sweat. He smiled wide, and as I invited him and his mother into my office, his questions ranged from the Asian artwork on the wall to my collection of martial arts books.
“Did you like the class?” I asked him. Sandra stood again by the doorway, watching.
“Yeah, Taekwondo is fun!”
“Yes, ma’am?” I said.
He looked confused.
“Yes, ma’am. Taekwondo is fun!” I repeated.
He caught on quickly. “Oh, yes, ma’am!”
“Wonderful!” I said. “You looked really great out there, and I’d love to have you as a student. But all my students have to say ‘yes, ma’am,’ ‘no, ma’am,’ and ‘thank you, ma’am’ to me. Can you do that?”
“Yyyyes, ma’am,” he said, with only a little hesitation.
“Great! Now, the other thing is that you must show your family – your parents and your sisters – the same respect at home. Can you say ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘yes, sir’ to your mom and dad?”
He paused. “Weeeeell, that depends. Do I have to?” His face squinted as if just the thought of respecting his parents caused excruciating pain.
“If you want to learn Taekwondo from me, yes, you do.”
He paused again. “Weeeell," he said, about to launch into a debate about why he shouldn't have to follow our rules. I interrupted.
"Yes, ma'am or no, ma'am?" I asked.
"No, ma'am. I’m not interested in Taekwondo anymore,” he said, and then promptly turned and walked out of the office.
I was quite stunned, but at the same time oddly impressed by his honesty. It wasn’t something he wanted to do, or had any intention of doing – and he knew it.
Sandra’s spirit appeared crushed. Tears began forming in the corners of her brown eyes.
“Thanks, anyway,” she said, trying to smile.
“Let me know if he changes his mind,” I said.
She nodded and then led her daughters out to the family’s maroon minivan, where Stephen was already buckled in and ready to leave.
That would have been the end of the story, except that Stephen remained in the back of my mind for at least two more weeks. There was something about this little boy that made me – an admittedly stubborn, old-style instructor – ease my standards. So while shopping in an Office Depot one day, I called Sandra to see how the family was doing – and to offer a compromise.
“If you’re willing to deal with a little disrespect at home for a while, then I’m willing to take him on as a student. I have a feeling that what he starts practicing in the dojang he will begin applying at home. He won’t know it’s happening, so he won’t be so resistant. What do you say?”
“Let me talk to him,” she said.
The next week, Stephen bounced into the school to sign up. After all, he desperately wanted one of those cool, white Taekwondo v-neck uniforms.
Once dressed, Stephen looked simply adorable. Proud. He stood a little taller, and kept feeling his chest, brushing his palms over the light cotton material. You could tell that he felt special. Somebody. And he was ready for anything. Superman, move over.
Stephen’s first official class went just a hare better than his trial lesson. He asked only 999,999 questions this time. (Alas, progress!) And he was quicker to notice the times he needed to say “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am.” He learned about perseverance, about not quitting just because things in life get hard, and he learned that if you try your best at something, you’re always a winner.
His sisters were a lively, supportive bunch, excitedly watching their big brother from the wooden spectator benches by the open-air garage door. Five-year-old Kate and 2-year-old Maddie sported long blond locks, too. Maddie liked to wear a pretty pink ballerina tutu, although she wasn’t yet in dance class, and she and her older sister would occasionally wave at Stephen. He, of course, ignored them.
They loved their big brother. He just didn’t know yet how much he loved them.
Day by day, year by year, Stephen grew mentally and physically stronger. He still struggled with interrupting me while I gave instructions to the class, but his questions grew fewer and father in between. And when his mouth did blurt out a question at the wrong time, I’d hold my open palm up as a signal for him to stop talking, and continue giving instructions to the class. I always turned to him before the class began our drill, though. I wanted him to know that if he practiced patience, I’d always acknowledge him.
“Question, quickly,” I’d say, and oftentimes he’d fire off not a question but an observation that had nothing to do with Taekwondo. But at least he held his question.
Progress, not perfection.
Home life was improving as well. Stephen was getting along better with his parents and sisters, and one by one, his dad, Edward, and both sisters joined the school.
Before my eyes, an easily distracted little boy became someone I called on to show new students the ropes. Stephen had even put in enough assistant teaching hours on the mat to qualify as a Junior Leader, a position marked by more responsibility – and a special uniform. Stephen was all about wearing neat, cool, and different uniforms, but when I presented him with the Junior Leader patch and new duds one day in front of a large crowd, his eyes filled with tears.
“Ms. Chapaty,” he whispered, leaning in a bit, “what if I have to quit?”
Edward was about to graduate from The University of Texas at Austin with a Ph.D. and it looked as if the family might have to move so that he could begin his career as a university professor.
“That’s O.K., Stephen,” I said gently. “You can pick Taekwondo up again wherever you move. The important thing is that you earned this. I HAVE to give it to you. Will you accept it?”
The tears began to dry up and that lovely wide smile he’s famous for reappeared. “Yes, ma’am,” he said confidently.
As it turned out, Edward got a temporary teaching position with a local college, and Stephen, now 9 years old, continued studying and growing with me. Edward’s teaching kept him from training on a regular basis, but he’d show up on his bike every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon to take Stephen home. When Sandra dropped Stephen off for class, she left a bike attachment that Edward later hooked onto his bike, and after class, he and Stephen would ride off into the sunset.
One day they needed to leave early to help Sandra prepare for a church potluck.
“Stephen, hurry up. We gotta go, buddy,” Edward told his son, who was still on the mat.
“Yes, sir,” Stephen said, uneventfully. He bowed off the mat and went straight to the men’s dressing room without bargaining or complaining.
I looked at Edward. Our eyes met, and we both smiled. Stephen had indeed come a long way.
And that would have been the end of the story, except for a bright summer day in Austin about a month ago when Edward, the kids, and some family friends were having a great time at a pool. The summers in Texas can be brutally hot, and everyone was trying to stay cool. Stephen was doing his best swimming that day, diving in and out of the cool, chlorinated water. Everyone was having a great time. But as Stephen pulled himself out of the water for the last time, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Maddie was at the bottom of the pool.
At first, he thought she was playing the “hold your breath” game, but his intuition told him something didn’t seem right. So he dove straight down to the bottom. Realizing that Maddie was drowning, he grabbed her bear-hug style, kicked hard and fast to pull her up to the surface and yelled for his dad to help.
Maddie wasn’t breathing when they laid her body across the poolside. Someone called 911 while Edward and one of the family’s friends, an off-duty lifeguard, began administering CPR. When the ambulance arrived, Maddie was breathing – but just barely. Her eyes rolled back; she was barely conscious. And for the next 24 hours, the family didn’t know whether she’d survive.
Lots of prayers were said. Loads of good chi were sent Maddie’s way. Within 48 hours, that little girl I first met in a pink tutu was talking and laughing again with her brother and sister.
Everyone in our community let go a huge sigh of relief.
Then everyone became awed by the presence of mind of a humble little boy. Nine-year-old Stephen, who two years earlier had the focus of a hummingbird and who flat-out refused to respect anyone in his family, saved his little sister’s life without hesitation.
Ask Stephen’s grandmother about the event, and she’ll insist it was his Taekwondo training that made him attentive and intuitive enough to know when something was wrong, and then courageous and physically strong enough to take immediate action.
Ask Stephen, and he’ll shrug. Maybe crack a smile. It was traumatic for him to see his little sister float helplessly at the bottom of the pool, and then later struggle to breathe in the hospital. He doesn’t like to talk about that day. And he certainly doesn’t want any fanfare over his role as a lifesaver.
I’m not sure he’ll truly understand how great his actions were until he’s much older. But this I understand:
Stephen is more than an ADHD label. He and Maddie are living proof that kids with attention and hyperactivity disorders do not have to be branded and written off as high-maintenance individuals or considered defective or abnormal. In fact, he’s a shining beacon – an inspiration to those young and old who struggle with attention challenges.
Stephen’s still an imperfect 9-year-old. Now, though, he has a fan base that extends beyond his family. He’s inspired a whole martial arts school – challenged a whole city – to step beyond labels and comfort zones and make the world a better place.
“A black belt in spirit, already he is,” Yoda would say.
“Agree, I must,” I say.
As for Stephen, this would have been the end of the story, except....
2011 Taekwondo Essay Contest, Sponsored by the Embassy of the Republic of KOREA
With blond, stringy locks and deep blue eyes, 7-year-old Stephen ricocheted into my martial arts school one spring day almost two years ago, excited that he was going to learn how to kick and punch.
He had no clue that learning Taekwondo would have such a lifesaving impact.
Neither did I.
When I met his mom, Sandra, I noticed how remarkably fatigued she seemed. Deflated in a way. With two younger daughters in tow, she leaned against the doorway to my office as if needing rest, then told me her son had recently been diagnosed with ADHD. Doctors recommended he study martial arts. After Stephen left the office to join other students in before-class games, Sandra told me his story:
• He struggles to stay on task
• He gets easily agitated
• His younger sisters are usually the target of his outbursts
“He has trouble getting along with his sisters,” she said. “We’re not sure if he has Asperger’s syndrome. He still needs to undergo additional tests.”
I nodded gently. She wasn’t the first parent I’d met whose child struggled with ADD/ADHD and emotional control. But she didn’t know that. I could tell she felt very alone.
“I’ve worked with a lot of students with ADHD and even Asperger’s,” I said, trying to reassure her.
“Does this (martial arts) work for everyone?” she asked in a pleading way.
“Yes, if I have the parents’ backing,” I replied reassuringly, “I’ve had very positive results.”
She nodded, sighed, and seemed to relax a bit. At the same time, though, I could tell she was trying not to get her hopes up.
In his trial class, Stephen did what every ADHD kid does: ask a million questions.
• How long did it take you to get your black belt?
• Are those weapons? Can I touch them?
• When can I get a cool uniform like yours?
• Hey, what do the stripes on everyone’s belts mean?
Of course, he never took a breath between questions, and he never really gave me a chance to answer him before his mind hop-scotched to the next thought. But that’s the ADHD way: ask, ask, ask.
Stephen was thin and looked a bit frail until he got out on the dojang floor. Once on the mat, the kid had unending energy. Right away, though, I noticed that he resisted saying “yes, ma’am,” “no ma’am,” or “thank you, ma’am.” I insist that students show respect in the dojang, though. Stephen would be no exception. I thought we would have a war of wills, but Stephen surprised me. He caught on by watching his classmates (hip, hip, hurrah for peer pressure) and, although a bit begrudgingly, soon began responding with “yes, ma’ams.” He did it because he was enjoying the heck out of kicking paddles and punching targets. He was having a blast, so showing respect wasn’t such a hard sell. But showing respect at home didn’t come so natural to Stephen.
And of course, that’s where he needed to show respect the most.
After Stephen’s trial lesson, his blond bangs were clumped and heavy with sweat. He smiled wide, and as I invited him and his mother into my office, his questions ranged from the Asian artwork on the wall to my collection of martial arts books.
“Did you like the class?” I asked him. Sandra stood again by the doorway, watching.
“Yeah, Taekwondo is fun!”
“Yes, ma’am?” I said.
He looked confused.
“Yes, ma’am. Taekwondo is fun!” I repeated.
He caught on quickly. “Oh, yes, ma’am!”
“Wonderful!” I said. “You looked really great out there, and I’d love to have you as a student. But all my students have to say ‘yes, ma’am,’ ‘no, ma’am,’ and ‘thank you, ma’am’ to me. Can you do that?”
“Yyyyes, ma’am,” he said, with only a little hesitation.
“Great! Now, the other thing is that you must show your family – your parents and your sisters – the same respect at home. Can you say ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘yes, sir’ to your mom and dad?”
He paused. “Weeeeell, that depends. Do I have to?” His face squinted as if just the thought of respecting his parents caused excruciating pain.
“If you want to learn Taekwondo from me, yes, you do.”
He paused again. “Weeeell," he said, about to launch into a debate about why he shouldn't have to follow our rules. I interrupted.
"Yes, ma'am or no, ma'am?" I asked.
"No, ma'am. I’m not interested in Taekwondo anymore,” he said, and then promptly turned and walked out of the office.
I was quite stunned, but at the same time oddly impressed by his honesty. It wasn’t something he wanted to do, or had any intention of doing – and he knew it.
Sandra’s spirit appeared crushed. Tears began forming in the corners of her brown eyes.
“Thanks, anyway,” she said, trying to smile.
“Let me know if he changes his mind,” I said.
She nodded and then led her daughters out to the family’s maroon minivan, where Stephen was already buckled in and ready to leave.
That would have been the end of the story, except that Stephen remained in the back of my mind for at least two more weeks. There was something about this little boy that made me – an admittedly stubborn, old-style instructor – ease my standards. So while shopping in an Office Depot one day, I called Sandra to see how the family was doing – and to offer a compromise.
“If you’re willing to deal with a little disrespect at home for a while, then I’m willing to take him on as a student. I have a feeling that what he starts practicing in the dojang he will begin applying at home. He won’t know it’s happening, so he won’t be so resistant. What do you say?”
“Let me talk to him,” she said.
Once dressed, Stephen looked simply adorable. Proud. He stood a little taller, and kept feeling his chest, brushing his palms over the light cotton material. You could tell that he felt special. Somebody. And he was ready for anything. Superman, move over.
Stephen’s first official class went just a hare better than his trial lesson. He asked only 999,999 questions this time. (Alas, progress!) And he was quicker to notice the times he needed to say “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am.” He learned about perseverance, about not quitting just because things in life get hard, and he learned that if you try your best at something, you’re always a winner.
His sisters were a lively, supportive bunch, excitedly watching their big brother from the wooden spectator benches by the open-air garage door. Five-year-old Kate and 2-year-old Maddie sported long blond locks, too. Maddie liked to wear a pretty pink ballerina tutu, although she wasn’t yet in dance class, and she and her older sister would occasionally wave at Stephen. He, of course, ignored them.
They loved their big brother. He just didn’t know yet how much he loved them.
Day by day, year by year, Stephen grew mentally and physically stronger. He still struggled with interrupting me while I gave instructions to the class, but his questions grew fewer and father in between. And when his mouth did blurt out a question at the wrong time, I’d hold my open palm up as a signal for him to stop talking, and continue giving instructions to the class. I always turned to him before the class began our drill, though. I wanted him to know that if he practiced patience, I’d always acknowledge him.
“Question, quickly,” I’d say, and oftentimes he’d fire off not a question but an observation that had nothing to do with Taekwondo. But at least he held his question.
Progress, not perfection.
Home life was improving as well. Stephen was getting along better with his parents and sisters, and one by one, his dad, Edward, and both sisters joined the school.
Before my eyes, an easily distracted little boy became someone I called on to show new students the ropes. Stephen had even put in enough assistant teaching hours on the mat to qualify as a Junior Leader, a position marked by more responsibility – and a special uniform. Stephen was all about wearing neat, cool, and different uniforms, but when I presented him with the Junior Leader patch and new duds one day in front of a large crowd, his eyes filled with tears.
“Ms. Chapaty,” he whispered, leaning in a bit, “what if I have to quit?”
Edward was about to graduate from The University of Texas at Austin with a Ph.D. and it looked as if the family might have to move so that he could begin his career as a university professor.
“That’s O.K., Stephen,” I said gently. “You can pick Taekwondo up again wherever you move. The important thing is that you earned this. I HAVE to give it to you. Will you accept it?”
The tears began to dry up and that lovely wide smile he’s famous for reappeared. “Yes, ma’am,” he said confidently.
As it turned out, Edward got a temporary teaching position with a local college, and Stephen, now 9 years old, continued studying and growing with me. Edward’s teaching kept him from training on a regular basis, but he’d show up on his bike every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon to take Stephen home. When Sandra dropped Stephen off for class, she left a bike attachment that Edward later hooked onto his bike, and after class, he and Stephen would ride off into the sunset.
One day they needed to leave early to help Sandra prepare for a church potluck.
“Stephen, hurry up. We gotta go, buddy,” Edward told his son, who was still on the mat.
“Yes, sir,” Stephen said, uneventfully. He bowed off the mat and went straight to the men’s dressing room without bargaining or complaining.
I looked at Edward. Our eyes met, and we both smiled. Stephen had indeed come a long way.
And that would have been the end of the story, except for a bright summer day in Austin about a month ago when Edward, the kids, and some family friends were having a great time at a pool. The summers in Texas can be brutally hot, and everyone was trying to stay cool. Stephen was doing his best swimming that day, diving in and out of the cool, chlorinated water. Everyone was having a great time. But as Stephen pulled himself out of the water for the last time, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Maddie was at the bottom of the pool.
At first, he thought she was playing the “hold your breath” game, but his intuition told him something didn’t seem right. So he dove straight down to the bottom. Realizing that Maddie was drowning, he grabbed her bear-hug style, kicked hard and fast to pull her up to the surface and yelled for his dad to help.
Maddie wasn’t breathing when they laid her body across the poolside. Someone called 911 while Edward and one of the family’s friends, an off-duty lifeguard, began administering CPR. When the ambulance arrived, Maddie was breathing – but just barely. Her eyes rolled back; she was barely conscious. And for the next 24 hours, the family didn’t know whether she’d survive.
Lots of prayers were said. Loads of good chi were sent Maddie’s way. Within 48 hours, that little girl I first met in a pink tutu was talking and laughing again with her brother and sister.
Everyone in our community let go a huge sigh of relief.
Then everyone became awed by the presence of mind of a humble little boy. Nine-year-old Stephen, who two years earlier had the focus of a hummingbird and who flat-out refused to respect anyone in his family, saved his little sister’s life without hesitation.
Ask Stephen’s grandmother about the event, and she’ll insist it was his Taekwondo training that made him attentive and intuitive enough to know when something was wrong, and then courageous and physically strong enough to take immediate action.
Ask Stephen, and he’ll shrug. Maybe crack a smile. It was traumatic for him to see his little sister float helplessly at the bottom of the pool, and then later struggle to breathe in the hospital. He doesn’t like to talk about that day. And he certainly doesn’t want any fanfare over his role as a lifesaver.
I’m not sure he’ll truly understand how great his actions were until he’s much older. But this I understand:
Stephen is more than an ADHD label. He and Maddie are living proof that kids with attention and hyperactivity disorders do not have to be branded and written off as high-maintenance individuals or considered defective or abnormal. In fact, he’s a shining beacon – an inspiration to those young and old who struggle with attention challenges.
Stephen’s still an imperfect 9-year-old. Now, though, he has a fan base that extends beyond his family. He’s inspired a whole martial arts school – challenged a whole city – to step beyond labels and comfort zones and make the world a better place.
“A black belt in spirit, already he is,” Yoda would say.
“Agree, I must,” I say.
As for Stephen, this would have been the end of the story, except....
Friday, November 11, 2011
I Speak Gratitude
This month my students and I are on a quest to find one thing to be grateful for every day. Our aim? To see whether the spirits of people—even those grieving a loss—can be buoyed by being thankful for life’s gifts on a daily basis. Not the iPad kind of gift, but rather the things we often take for granted.
The Gratitude Experiment couldn't have come at a better time. Life has hit me hard lately. For months I have been struggling with knee and foot issues. In late October, my partner and I had to put down our 15-year-old dachshund terrier Momo after an agonizingly long decline. Within the same week, I was served papers notifying me that an ex-student had filed a lawsuit seeking damages from an injury she had suffered while sparring 15 months earlier.
But I have faith that this exercise will help me stay out of self-pity, move through and let go of grief and anger, and stay positive. If it works, I’ll definitely pull it out every November as a homework assignment for my martial arts students—and I might continue myself year-round.
Here we go:
Nov. 30
Day 30 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for gratitude and the power of choice. No matter what happens in my life, I can choose to be grateful—to see something positive in one thing every day. If you’ve never tried the Gratitude Experiment, I highly recommend it. It has been quite a powerful and empowering journey.
Nov. 29
Day 29 of Thanksgiving: I won! I won! I won! I won an award in an essay contest sponsored by the Embassy of the Republic of Korea. Today, I’m grateful for the gifts of martial arts and writing. Most of all, I’m grateful to the topic of my essay: Ian D., a kid with ADHD. Through Taekwondo, Ian developed (1) the focus to notice one summer day that his sister was drowning at the bottom of a family friend’s pool; (2) the courage to act quickly as he dove down to the bottom; and (3) the physical strength to grab his sister bear-hug style and kick them both to the surface and to safety. I’m excited about the award, but it doesn’t come close to trumping Ian’s heroic actions.
Nov. 28
Day 28 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for Texas Ruby red grapefruit. It’s light and rich in vitamin C (a good thing during cold and flu season). Not everyone in the United States can get this fruit, either. Lucky!
Nov. 27
Day 27 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for a day of living in the moment. Today, I had an unexpected adventure that I’d have missed if the day had unfolded according to my piddley plans. The Power of Now: It’s more than the title of a bestselling book!
Nov. 26
Day 26 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for old songs like “Rocky Mountain High” by John Denver that bring back good memories of gentler times.
Nov. 25
Day 25 of Thanksgiving: Today I’m grateful for a circle of good friends (who answer to either The Yayas or The Domino Divas), a good meal, the smell of sea salt, and the sound of ocean waves. A weekend with friends at the beach: Awesome.
Nov. 24
Day 24 of Thanksgiving: OMG, IT’S FINALLY THANKSGIVING! Today I’m grateful for Angie Van Heel, who invited others to join her in a 30 Days of Thanksgiving (Gratitude) practice. The problems I had 24 days ago have not changed. They’re all still here. Yet I somehow feel better about my life. Hmmm. Thanks, Angie!
Nov. 23
Day 23 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that I don’t live in Yemen or Egypt, where a revolution could break out on any given day with little warning. I’m also glad that I don’t live in Afghanistan, where, according to a CNN.com article, a woman who is raped has to either suffer 12 years in jail or marry her attacker.
Nov. 22
Day 22 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for my day job. A competitor laid off a bunch of people last week. Times are tough everywhere these days. So I'm grateful that I have a job, first of all, and that I have the kind of job that is going to pay me to go eat, nap, and play board games with my family on Thursday AND Friday. What a gift.
Nov. 21
Day 21 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful that I don't beat up on myself for little things as much anymore—like forgetting to post this gratitude yesterday.
Nov. 20
Day 20 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for the transformation of butterflies. They remind me that no matter what may seem wrong with my life, change—big change—is just around the corner. Today, a friend gave me the honor of releasing Monarch butterfly No. 9 from their makeshift den sanctuary. I named him Momo for our dog who died right around the time that the caterpillar cocooned. Then I let him go. It was a beautiful moment.
Nov. 19
Day 19 of Thanksgiving: I have comfort: a small (cozy) house, and in that house is a livingroom with a comfy couch. On that couch, covered by warm and loving dogs, I get to take the occasional nap. I'm lucky. I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in my belly. I have comfort. Priceless.
Nov. 18
Day 18 of Thanksgiving: I'm blessed with the best Taekwondo students in the world. Their growth continues to amaze me!
Nov. 17
Day 17 of Thanksgiving: I have the best dream life. I've always dreamed in color, and the images are vivid. Lately I've been having recurring travel dreams, sharing my time between Paris and Las Vegas. It's an adventure every night!
Nov. 16
Day 16 of Thanksgiving: Today I have yet another doctor's appointment. My left foot is swollen AGAIN. I'm grateful, though, that I have a left foot. And a right one, too.
Nov. 15
Day 15 of Thanksgiving: It's raining today in drought-stricken Texas. Thank you, Sky Gods.
Nov. 14
Day 14 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for my 12-step recovery program, specifically Step 1, which reminds me that I'm powerless over people, institutions, and certain events. It's OK to stick with the winners, and, as a result, let go of toxic, drama-addicted people.
Nov. 13
Day 13 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for one of my Taekwondo students, who years ago when he was age 9 intervened on behalf of a classmate when a bully pulled his classmate's pants down in the boys restroom. Then my student did the right thing—the brave thing: he told his teacher. As a result, school administrators discovered that the bully had done this to others, and he was disciplined. I'm proud of my student. He helped stop a monstrous bully. He stepped forward to help a weaker, smaller peer. At 9 years old, he was a bigger man than any of those "men" at Penn State.
Nov. 12
Day 12 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful today that I can hear. I can hear the quiet of an early morning. I can hear my cute, sweet, smart yet neurotic dog Dudley bark his head off at some unseen danger in the backyard. I can hear Mare burp in the kitchen and then belt out Tarzan yells like Carol Burnett as she gets dressed in the bedroom. I can hear birds tweet outside (not the Twitter kind). I can hear, and life sounds wonderful.
Nov. 11
Day 11 of Thanksgiving: It’s Veteran’s Day, and I’m grateful for all the servicemen and women past and present who’ve fought for our country, but especially Uncle Marvin. He fought in Vietnam and then was a drill sergeant stateside. As a result of his traumatic experiences in Asia, he went through some very rough patches during his life—persevering through pain others could see but of which he would never speak. Thank you, Uncle Marvin, and all the men and women who’ve ever worn a military uniform. You’ve kept me, my family, and my neighbors, students, and colleagues free and safe. For that, I’m truly grateful.
Nov. 10
Day 10 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for three very important things: health, sanity, and, umm, what’s that third one there. Let’s see…O.K., so health, sanity, and—let’s see. I can’t. The third one…I can’t. Sorry. Oops…. (Thank you, Texas Gov. Rick Perry, for reminding me that I’m grateful to have a sense of humor.)
Nov. 9
Day 9 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for family—mine and Mare’s. I have the funniest little bingo-blotter-wielding mom in the world. I’m also grateful for some awesome in-laws. I love them and they love me. Not everyone who’s married can say that. Even fewer who are gay can say that. I am truly fortunate.
Nov. 8
Day 8 of Thanksgiving: Considering the state of this nation’s economy, I’m grateful that I have a job that pays enough to cover ALL my bills.
Nov. 7
Day 7 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for all of life’s difficulties—the things that have made me/allowed me to face fears and overcome obstacles and adversities. All of these trials have molded me into the strong woman I am today.
Nov. 6
Day 6 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that I live in Austin, Texas, a super dog-friendly city with lots of off-leash parks.
Nov. 5
Day 5 of Thanksgiving: On a chilly morning, I’m grateful that SUMMER’S FINALLY OVER in Texas!
Nov. 4
Day 4 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for my warm, cuddly, awesome pets (three dogs, one cat) that love me unconditionally and make me smile and laugh daily. I still miss Momo, our 15-year-old dachshund terrier that we had to put down late last month, but today I’m grateful that we had all the wonderful years we did with her.
Nov. 3
Day 3 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for my wonderful, beautiful, resourceful, and staggeringly creative partner. She amazes me more every day.
Nov. 2
Day 2 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that, save for my inherited osteoarthritic knees, I’m in good general health.
Nov. 1
Day 1 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that I’m sober today.
But I have faith that this exercise will help me stay out of self-pity, move through and let go of grief and anger, and stay positive. If it works, I’ll definitely pull it out every November as a homework assignment for my martial arts students—and I might continue myself year-round.
Here we go:
Nov. 30
Day 30 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for gratitude and the power of choice. No matter what happens in my life, I can choose to be grateful—to see something positive in one thing every day. If you’ve never tried the Gratitude Experiment, I highly recommend it. It has been quite a powerful and empowering journey.
Day 29 of Thanksgiving: I won! I won! I won! I won an award in an essay contest sponsored by the Embassy of the Republic of Korea. Today, I’m grateful for the gifts of martial arts and writing. Most of all, I’m grateful to the topic of my essay: Ian D., a kid with ADHD. Through Taekwondo, Ian developed (1) the focus to notice one summer day that his sister was drowning at the bottom of a family friend’s pool; (2) the courage to act quickly as he dove down to the bottom; and (3) the physical strength to grab his sister bear-hug style and kick them both to the surface and to safety. I’m excited about the award, but it doesn’t come close to trumping Ian’s heroic actions.
Nov. 28
Day 28 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for Texas Ruby red grapefruit. It’s light and rich in vitamin C (a good thing during cold and flu season). Not everyone in the United States can get this fruit, either. Lucky!
Nov. 27
Day 27 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for a day of living in the moment. Today, I had an unexpected adventure that I’d have missed if the day had unfolded according to my piddley plans. The Power of Now: It’s more than the title of a bestselling book!
Day 26 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for old songs like “Rocky Mountain High” by John Denver that bring back good memories of gentler times.
Nov. 25
Day 25 of Thanksgiving: Today I’m grateful for a circle of good friends (who answer to either The Yayas or The Domino Divas), a good meal, the smell of sea salt, and the sound of ocean waves. A weekend with friends at the beach: Awesome.
Nov. 24
Day 24 of Thanksgiving: OMG, IT’S FINALLY THANKSGIVING! Today I’m grateful for Angie Van Heel, who invited others to join her in a 30 Days of Thanksgiving (Gratitude) practice. The problems I had 24 days ago have not changed. They’re all still here. Yet I somehow feel better about my life. Hmmm. Thanks, Angie!
Nov. 23
Day 23 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that I don’t live in Yemen or Egypt, where a revolution could break out on any given day with little warning. I’m also glad that I don’t live in Afghanistan, where, according to a CNN.com article, a woman who is raped has to either suffer 12 years in jail or marry her attacker.
Nov. 22
Day 22 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for my day job. A competitor laid off a bunch of people last week. Times are tough everywhere these days. So I'm grateful that I have a job, first of all, and that I have the kind of job that is going to pay me to go eat, nap, and play board games with my family on Thursday AND Friday. What a gift.
Nov. 21
Day 21 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful that I don't beat up on myself for little things as much anymore—like forgetting to post this gratitude yesterday.
Nov. 20
Day 20 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for the transformation of butterflies. They remind me that no matter what may seem wrong with my life, change—big change—is just around the corner. Today, a friend gave me the honor of releasing Monarch butterfly No. 9 from their makeshift den sanctuary. I named him Momo for our dog who died right around the time that the caterpillar cocooned. Then I let him go. It was a beautiful moment.
Nov. 19
Day 19 of Thanksgiving: I have comfort: a small (cozy) house, and in that house is a livingroom with a comfy couch. On that couch, covered by warm and loving dogs, I get to take the occasional nap. I'm lucky. I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in my belly. I have comfort. Priceless.
Day 18 of Thanksgiving: I'm blessed with the best Taekwondo students in the world. Their growth continues to amaze me!
Nov. 17
Day 17 of Thanksgiving: I have the best dream life. I've always dreamed in color, and the images are vivid. Lately I've been having recurring travel dreams, sharing my time between Paris and Las Vegas. It's an adventure every night!
Nov. 16
Day 16 of Thanksgiving: Today I have yet another doctor's appointment. My left foot is swollen AGAIN. I'm grateful, though, that I have a left foot. And a right one, too.
Nov. 15
Day 15 of Thanksgiving: It's raining today in drought-stricken Texas. Thank you, Sky Gods.
Nov. 14
Day 14 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for my 12-step recovery program, specifically Step 1, which reminds me that I'm powerless over people, institutions, and certain events. It's OK to stick with the winners, and, as a result, let go of toxic, drama-addicted people.
Nov. 13
Day 13 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful for one of my Taekwondo students, who years ago when he was age 9 intervened on behalf of a classmate when a bully pulled his classmate's pants down in the boys restroom. Then my student did the right thing—the brave thing: he told his teacher. As a result, school administrators discovered that the bully had done this to others, and he was disciplined. I'm proud of my student. He helped stop a monstrous bully. He stepped forward to help a weaker, smaller peer. At 9 years old, he was a bigger man than any of those "men" at Penn State.
Nov. 12
Day 12 of Thanksgiving: I'm grateful today that I can hear. I can hear the quiet of an early morning. I can hear my cute, sweet, smart yet neurotic dog Dudley bark his head off at some unseen danger in the backyard. I can hear Mare burp in the kitchen and then belt out Tarzan yells like Carol Burnett as she gets dressed in the bedroom. I can hear birds tweet outside (not the Twitter kind). I can hear, and life sounds wonderful.
Nov. 11
Day 11 of Thanksgiving: It’s Veteran’s Day, and I’m grateful for all the servicemen and women past and present who’ve fought for our country, but especially Uncle Marvin. He fought in Vietnam and then was a drill sergeant stateside. As a result of his traumatic experiences in Asia, he went through some very rough patches during his life—persevering through pain others could see but of which he would never speak. Thank you, Uncle Marvin, and all the men and women who’ve ever worn a military uniform. You’ve kept me, my family, and my neighbors, students, and colleagues free and safe. For that, I’m truly grateful.
Nov. 10
Day 10 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for three very important things: health, sanity, and, umm, what’s that third one there. Let’s see…O.K., so health, sanity, and—let’s see. I can’t. The third one…I can’t. Sorry. Oops…. (Thank you, Texas Gov. Rick Perry, for reminding me that I’m grateful to have a sense of humor.)
Nov. 9
Day 9 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for family—mine and Mare’s. I have the funniest little bingo-blotter-wielding mom in the world. I’m also grateful for some awesome in-laws. I love them and they love me. Not everyone who’s married can say that. Even fewer who are gay can say that. I am truly fortunate.
Nov. 8
Day 8 of Thanksgiving: Considering the state of this nation’s economy, I’m grateful that I have a job that pays enough to cover ALL my bills.
Nov. 7
Day 7 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for all of life’s difficulties—the things that have made me/allowed me to face fears and overcome obstacles and adversities. All of these trials have molded me into the strong woman I am today.
Nov. 6
Day 6 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that I live in Austin, Texas, a super dog-friendly city with lots of off-leash parks.
Nov. 5
Day 5 of Thanksgiving: On a chilly morning, I’m grateful that SUMMER’S FINALLY OVER in Texas!
Day 4 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for my warm, cuddly, awesome pets (three dogs, one cat) that love me unconditionally and make me smile and laugh daily. I still miss Momo, our 15-year-old dachshund terrier that we had to put down late last month, but today I’m grateful that we had all the wonderful years we did with her.
Nov. 3
Day 3 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful for my wonderful, beautiful, resourceful, and staggeringly creative partner. She amazes me more every day.
Nov. 2
Day 2 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that, save for my inherited osteoarthritic knees, I’m in good general health.
Nov. 1
Day 1 of Thanksgiving: I’m grateful that I’m sober today.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Gratitude Quote of the Week
“If you’ve forgotten the language of gratitude, you’ll never be on speaking terms with happiness.”
— Anonymous
— Anonymous
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Courage Quote of the Week
“To know what is right and not to do it is the worst cowardice.”
— Confucius
— Confucius
Friday, October 28, 2011
The Art of Giving and Receiving Love
The other day, another parent said, "We love you, Ms. Cathy."
I’ve heard it before. In fact, I get that sentiment a lot. And yet I’m still surprised. I’ve practiced Taekwondo for 19 years now (11 years teaching), and I know that I’ve done a lot of good for others, especially children. Still, I'm always on guard, trying to strike a healthy balance between good self-esteem and humility. (Trust me: My ego can balloon with the best of them.)
Parents and students do love me and the work that I do, and they show me and tell me in a myriad ways.
Families bring me cookies and cards throughout the year. During the winter holiday season, they shower me with gift certificates to Starbucks and Barnes & Noble. Students write me Valentine’s Day poems and give me lollipops on their birthdays. Some Tiny Texans run up and wrap their arms around my dobok pant legs, squeezing out a big hug. One time, an anonymous donor left an envelope containing $200 cash on my office desk. It’s rare that a parent comes up and gives me a big, strong bear hug and a kiss on the cheek, but that’s happened too. (That one may always surprise me.)
These moments of thanksgiving have happened so often that you’d think I would have gotten used to them by now. After all, I’m an empowering teacher who invests a lot of energy in inspiring others, especially my young students. What goes around comes around, eh? Yet the love and acts of kindness that my students and parents show me always take my breath away. I’m genuinely touched. And on many levels, it’s difficult to take in all that love.
It’s always been easier for me to be the compliment giver than the receiver, to Aikido-deflect a nice sentiment. It’s also always been easier for me to believe a negative statement about myself rather than a positive one.
After all these years of powerful training, I’m slightly baffled that I still have much to learn about the art of building and maintaining self-confidence and self-esteem amid humility.
I continue to try, though. If I want my students to believe all the encouraging words I say to them, then I have to be able to let those messages in myself—to not discount sweet words that parents and students often convey.
Last week at the YMCA, I got more than my fair share of practice in the art of taking compliments. Many parents were excited about the results of my latest character-building homework assignment.
To earn a black stripe on their belt, students were encouraged to do something nice for their parents—take out the trash, set the table for dinner, clear the table after dinner, clean their room, put away their toys—without their parents either knowing about it or asking them to do it.
“You can do anything,” I told students in my Tiny Texans and Youth Beginner’s class earlier in the week, “ANYTHING! Just don’t tell your parents. It has to be a surprise! And if they ask you to do that task, it’s too late. It doesn’t count. So if your parents are always reminding you to brush your teeth before bed, brush your teeth RIGHT AFTER DINNER! Beat them to it!”
On Thursday, 3-year-old Izzie—a meek and long, blond-haired Cinderella wannabe—was the first to report her progress.
“Ms. Cathy,” the Tiny Texan squeaked, “I strapped myself into my car seat without mommy’s help.”
“WOW!” I said, looking over at her parents. Izzie’s mom nodded in affirmation. “I’ll bet that makes your parents very happy because they know you’ll stay safe in the car.”
Izzie nodded silently. Her mom smiled wide, pride beaming from her face.
For successfully completing her character homework, Izzie received a black stripe on her white belt. Now Izzie was smiling as wide as her mom. As I cut the electrical tape off and pressed its end firmly to Izzie’s belt, I gave her some encouraging words.
“You’re smart,” I began. “Strapping yourself into your car seat is a very important task. It will help your parents know that you’re riding safe, and the more you do little things like this to keep yourself safe, the more your mommy and daddy will trust you in the future to take on more big-girl tasks.
“So keep up the good work!”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Izzie said softly with a shy smile. Her mom mouthed a silent “thank you.” I nodded approvingly and mouthed an equally silent “you’re welcome.”
In the next class, Ricky, a petite, 6-year-old yellow-stripe white belt, tugged on my dobok sleeve. He had something important to tell me about his homework assignment.
“Ms. Cathy,” he said, “I went to bed without my parents telling me to.”
“That’s fabulous!” I said, as I gave him a high-five palm slap. “I bet your parents appreciated that, huh?”
“Oh, yeah!” said his mom, who was standing nearby.
“I’m very proud of you,” I said to Ricky. “Do you know why?”
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“You’re helping your parents. They’re not trying to be mean to you when they tell you that it’s time for bed. You see, they know your body needs a certain number of hours of sleep so that you can grow. When your body gets lots of rest, you’ll grow big, tall, and strong!”
Ricky’s eyes grew wide.
“Keep up the great work, son,” I said, wrapping a black stripe around his white belt. “If you keep going to bed when you’re supposed to without complaint and you keep getting all the rest you need, pretty soon you’ll be taller than me!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Ricky said, grinning.
“And then I won’t want to spar you anymore because you’ll be so strong that you’ll kick me into next week.”
Ricky smiled wider.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
“Comsah hamnidah,” I said in Korean, and then in English, “Thank you!”
Ricky’s mom reached out her hand to shake. “Thank you for all you do,” she said. “You’re teaching our kids so many great lessons. It’s more than Taekwondo.”
I tried to take it in.
“You’re welcome.” I finally said.
As Ricky and his mom turned to go, I noticed another parent, the mother of a 6-year-old white belt, who had been patiently waiting nearby. She had a serious look on her face. Right or wrong, I immediately thought, "Oh no, what'd I do?"
“I don’t know if you realize how important you are,” she began. I sighed a bit on the inside. “You’re surrounded by angels. I know you don’t really know me very well, but I have to tell you that it is so refreshing to find a teacher like you. We are all so grateful. You are very special, and we love what you do for our kids.”
I’ve heard this before too (yes, even the part about being surrounded by angels). But holy tamale, I’ve never known what to say. Or do you say anything?
I stood there and practiced receiving love.
“Thank you,” I said simply. “Thank you for your kind words. I really appreciate your support.”
I’ve heard it before. In fact, I get that sentiment a lot. And yet I’m still surprised. I’ve practiced Taekwondo for 19 years now (11 years teaching), and I know that I’ve done a lot of good for others, especially children. Still, I'm always on guard, trying to strike a healthy balance between good self-esteem and humility. (Trust me: My ego can balloon with the best of them.)
Parents and students do love me and the work that I do, and they show me and tell me in a myriad ways.
Families bring me cookies and cards throughout the year. During the winter holiday season, they shower me with gift certificates to Starbucks and Barnes & Noble. Students write me Valentine’s Day poems and give me lollipops on their birthdays. Some Tiny Texans run up and wrap their arms around my dobok pant legs, squeezing out a big hug. One time, an anonymous donor left an envelope containing $200 cash on my office desk. It’s rare that a parent comes up and gives me a big, strong bear hug and a kiss on the cheek, but that’s happened too. (That one may always surprise me.)
These moments of thanksgiving have happened so often that you’d think I would have gotten used to them by now. After all, I’m an empowering teacher who invests a lot of energy in inspiring others, especially my young students. What goes around comes around, eh? Yet the love and acts of kindness that my students and parents show me always take my breath away. I’m genuinely touched. And on many levels, it’s difficult to take in all that love.
It’s always been easier for me to be the compliment giver than the receiver, to Aikido-deflect a nice sentiment. It’s also always been easier for me to believe a negative statement about myself rather than a positive one.
After all these years of powerful training, I’m slightly baffled that I still have much to learn about the art of building and maintaining self-confidence and self-esteem amid humility.
I continue to try, though. If I want my students to believe all the encouraging words I say to them, then I have to be able to let those messages in myself—to not discount sweet words that parents and students often convey.
Last week at the YMCA, I got more than my fair share of practice in the art of taking compliments. Many parents were excited about the results of my latest character-building homework assignment.
To earn a black stripe on their belt, students were encouraged to do something nice for their parents—take out the trash, set the table for dinner, clear the table after dinner, clean their room, put away their toys—without their parents either knowing about it or asking them to do it.
“You can do anything,” I told students in my Tiny Texans and Youth Beginner’s class earlier in the week, “ANYTHING! Just don’t tell your parents. It has to be a surprise! And if they ask you to do that task, it’s too late. It doesn’t count. So if your parents are always reminding you to brush your teeth before bed, brush your teeth RIGHT AFTER DINNER! Beat them to it!”
On Thursday, 3-year-old Izzie—a meek and long, blond-haired Cinderella wannabe—was the first to report her progress.
“Ms. Cathy,” the Tiny Texan squeaked, “I strapped myself into my car seat without mommy’s help.”
“WOW!” I said, looking over at her parents. Izzie’s mom nodded in affirmation. “I’ll bet that makes your parents very happy because they know you’ll stay safe in the car.”
Izzie nodded silently. Her mom smiled wide, pride beaming from her face.
For successfully completing her character homework, Izzie received a black stripe on her white belt. Now Izzie was smiling as wide as her mom. As I cut the electrical tape off and pressed its end firmly to Izzie’s belt, I gave her some encouraging words.
“You’re smart,” I began. “Strapping yourself into your car seat is a very important task. It will help your parents know that you’re riding safe, and the more you do little things like this to keep yourself safe, the more your mommy and daddy will trust you in the future to take on more big-girl tasks.
“So keep up the good work!”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Izzie said softly with a shy smile. Her mom mouthed a silent “thank you.” I nodded approvingly and mouthed an equally silent “you’re welcome.”
In the next class, Ricky, a petite, 6-year-old yellow-stripe white belt, tugged on my dobok sleeve. He had something important to tell me about his homework assignment.
“Ms. Cathy,” he said, “I went to bed without my parents telling me to.”
“That’s fabulous!” I said, as I gave him a high-five palm slap. “I bet your parents appreciated that, huh?”
“Oh, yeah!” said his mom, who was standing nearby.
“I’m very proud of you,” I said to Ricky. “Do you know why?”
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“You’re helping your parents. They’re not trying to be mean to you when they tell you that it’s time for bed. You see, they know your body needs a certain number of hours of sleep so that you can grow. When your body gets lots of rest, you’ll grow big, tall, and strong!”
Ricky’s eyes grew wide.
“Keep up the great work, son,” I said, wrapping a black stripe around his white belt. “If you keep going to bed when you’re supposed to without complaint and you keep getting all the rest you need, pretty soon you’ll be taller than me!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Ricky said, grinning.
“And then I won’t want to spar you anymore because you’ll be so strong that you’ll kick me into next week.”
Ricky smiled wider.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
“Comsah hamnidah,” I said in Korean, and then in English, “Thank you!”
Ricky’s mom reached out her hand to shake. “Thank you for all you do,” she said. “You’re teaching our kids so many great lessons. It’s more than Taekwondo.”
I tried to take it in.
“You’re welcome.” I finally said.
As Ricky and his mom turned to go, I noticed another parent, the mother of a 6-year-old white belt, who had been patiently waiting nearby. She had a serious look on her face. Right or wrong, I immediately thought, "Oh no, what'd I do?"
“I don’t know if you realize how important you are,” she began. I sighed a bit on the inside. “You’re surrounded by angels. I know you don’t really know me very well, but I have to tell you that it is so refreshing to find a teacher like you. We are all so grateful. You are very special, and we love what you do for our kids.”
I’ve heard this before too (yes, even the part about being surrounded by angels). But holy tamale, I’ve never known what to say. Or do you say anything?
I stood there and practiced receiving love.
“Thank you,” I said simply. “Thank you for your kind words. I really appreciate your support.”
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