Gabriel, a 9-year-old purple belt, became Tao of Texas Martial Arts’s newest Junior Leader today. As part of meeting all the requirements for this coveted position, he carefully and thoughtfully wrote the following essay on what makes a good leader:
“A leader shows a good example to other people. A leader helps people to achieve goals. A leader incourages people to do the right thing.
“A leader corrects you when you’re doing something wrong. A leader motivates you when you are discouraged. A leader shouldn’t discourage you. A leader should be very calm and polite. A leader corrects people very nicely.
“A leader tells people what to do very clearly. A leader does not critisize people. A leader does not lie to people. A leader does not cheat nor does he tell his students to cheat either.”
One word: WOW.
Gabriel's essay made me think of the many masters I've worked with over the years who sadly did not live up to the last two lines. It also made me wish the concepts he mentioned in his essay were standard operating procedures for Austin and Washington lawmakers.
This young man has a good head on his shoulders, a good heart in his body, and a brave, compassionate soul.
We need more young men like Gabriel walking this earth.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
'Twas the Night Before Kung Fu...
New words to a holiday classic
‘Twas the night before Kung Fu, when all through the house
A creature was stirring, and it wasn’t a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
And, big surprise, a burglar decided to start there.
My children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sparring matches danced in their heads.
And mamma in her dobok, and I in my gi,
Crept down the stairs to surprise the bad-guy would-be.
When out in the living room there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from the hallway, prepared for blood splatter.
Toward the burglar I charged like a flash,
I hit and hit him. I literally kicked his a--.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave luster to his bruised cheeks from blow after blow.
When, what to my overwhelmed eyes should appear,
But a switchblade knife—pointed at me, “Oh dear!”
With my trusty Kung Fu, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment: “Don’t let that knife stick.”
More rapid than eagles his attacks, they came.
And he grunted, and shouted, and called me bad names!
“Get out of my way, or I’ll hurt you, old man!
“This isn’t the time to be a UFC fan!
“I’ll slice you real bad; I’ll throw you against the wall!
“Now get away! Back off! Before I cut you all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I remembered my form
A punch and a tiger claw—and I was reborn.
As I drew in my leg and threw out a kick,
Down to the floor the man went—and now he looked sick.
His eyes—how they dazed! His nose—how it bled!
His cheeks were all swollen! He had a cut on his head!
He drooled from the mouth and was curled up in a ball,
And the shock on his face told me: That was all.
The stump of a knife he held tight in his teeth,
And a bandana encircled his head like a wreath.
In the blink of an eye, he climbed out the window,
And on the lawn he fell in a noisy crescendo.
He ran to his car, to his Homies he whistled,
And away they all drove like an Iranian-bound missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as they screeched out of sight,
“You Kung Fu guys are crazy. But, man, can you fight!”
‘Twas the night before Kung Fu, when all through the house
A creature was stirring, and it wasn’t a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
And, big surprise, a burglar decided to start there.
My children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sparring matches danced in their heads.
And mamma in her dobok, and I in my gi,
Crept down the stairs to surprise the bad-guy would-be.
When out in the living room there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from the hallway, prepared for blood splatter.
Toward the burglar I charged like a flash,
I hit and hit him. I literally kicked his a--.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave luster to his bruised cheeks from blow after blow.
When, what to my overwhelmed eyes should appear,
But a switchblade knife—pointed at me, “Oh dear!”
With my trusty Kung Fu, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment: “Don’t let that knife stick.”
More rapid than eagles his attacks, they came.
And he grunted, and shouted, and called me bad names!
“Get out of my way, or I’ll hurt you, old man!
“This isn’t the time to be a UFC fan!
“I’ll slice you real bad; I’ll throw you against the wall!
“Now get away! Back off! Before I cut you all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I remembered my form
A punch and a tiger claw—and I was reborn.
As I drew in my leg and threw out a kick,
Down to the floor the man went—and now he looked sick.
His eyes—how they dazed! His nose—how it bled!
His cheeks were all swollen! He had a cut on his head!
He drooled from the mouth and was curled up in a ball,
And the shock on his face told me: That was all.
The stump of a knife he held tight in his teeth,
And a bandana encircled his head like a wreath.
In the blink of an eye, he climbed out the window,
And on the lawn he fell in a noisy crescendo.
He ran to his car, to his Homies he whistled,
And away they all drove like an Iranian-bound missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as they screeched out of sight,
“You Kung Fu guys are crazy. But, man, can you fight!”
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Friends Who Bully Friends Aren’t Friends
[Hopefully last in a series]
Last week I received a bittersweet call from a former Taekwondo student who had grown over 6 feet tall—in more ways than one.
I rarely get phone calls from my students, so it was a surprise and a treat to hear from Marvin.
As a frail, pip-squeak 8-year-old, Marvin walked into the dojang one day years ago with his mom. I thought he was a girl. He had beautiful, long and wavy golden blond hair. The only thing that indicated he was a boy was the sleeveless David Robinson San Antonio Spurs basketball jersey he wore and the fact that his mother referred to him as “he.”
Marvin studied Taekwondo with me for about three years until he reached green belt and budding basketball height. Now over 6 feet tall, Marvin was on his high school basketball team. But Marvin’s call indicated that he was growing in more ways than height. He was going through a hard social and emotional growth spurt after one of his friends struck him in anger.
“Oh, I admit it,” he began. “It was a stupid confrontation, and I started it.”
While in his room after school, Marvin and two friends were casually jawing when his friends began a tirade of gay slurs. Marvin asked them to stop.
“I said, ‘Hey, guys, that’s not cool,’ but they kept on,” Marvin explained. “Then I said, ‘You guys have to go. Seriously, I mean it.’”
They didn’t leave. Instead, one of his friends began to tease and taunt Marvin about being gay because he defended homosexuals. Marvin has a girlfriend, but that’s beside the point. His family raised him to be open-minded and open-hearted and to be compassionate, accepting, and respectful of everyone—period.
Marvin admits he was tired and overwhelmed by the stresses of school. His family also was dealing with a tough issue at home. So he asked his friends again to leave, but they remained. In a moment of frustration, Marvin made the terrible decision to throw a cup at one of his friends.
The cup hit his friend, and the friend exploded in a violent rage, repeatedly punching Marvin in the head.
Marvin said he saw the attack coming. “It was like a slow motion movie. As he was coming at me, I started thinking of all the ways I could take him down.” Then Marvin remembered something I said in class many years ago.
“You said to only use my skills if my life was in danger,” Marvin said. “Even though I haven’t been in class in years, I knew I still had skills that could really hurt him.”
He chose to take the hits and not fight back. Marvin’s other friend stood nearby and watched while the boy screamed and pounded Marvin’s head. The attack lasted only seconds, and then both friends left in a huff.
Marvin was shaken but thankfully wasn’t physically hurt. Instead, he was baffled by his friend’s strong reaction, which didn’t seem to match being hit by a cup.
Marvin had seen this side of his buddy before, but his friend’s anger had never been directed at him.
“I knew right after I threw the cup that I shouldn’t have thrown it,” he said on the phone. “I wish I could have taken that cup back. But it was too late, and then [his friend] just flew into a rage.”
“You obviously struck a nerve,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s had a rough life so far,” said Marvin, who described the foster homes his friend had been in before being recently adopted.
“I would bet his biological parents were abusive, and that they threw things at him,” I said.
“That sounds right,” Marvin replied.
There was a pause in the conversation, then I said, “You know you could have blocked, right? Blocking an attack is OK. Even if you started it, you didn’t have to sit there and take it.”
“I know,” he said. “I just chose not to fight back.”
The incident opened a dialogue about his relationship with this boy, and whether they were really friends.
“Well, I started it. I shouldn’t have thrown the cup,” he said.
“True,” I agreed. “Did you apologize?”
“I did,” Marvin said, adding that it didn’t do much good. His friend had already texted and emailed him with trash talk and was threatening to post disparaging things about Marvin on Facebook.
“If you are sincerely remorseful, and you make amends by never repeating that behavior again, then you’ve done your part,” I said. “You can’t force him to accept your apology, and you don’t have to take further abuse.”
It was during our conversation that Marvin questioned whether his friend was a bully.
“Friend” bullying happens more than some might think. In this situation, it appears his friend took on the role of a Bully, Marvin was the Target, and his other friend was the Bystander, who did nothing.
Marvin was able to recognize the dynamics and of how this wasn’t the first time events had played out this way.
Marvin was disappointed in himself—wishing he hadn’t thrown the cup—but also disappointed in the friend who exploded and the bystander friend who did nothing.
“I know it’s hard,” I said, “but sometimes you have to let people go.
“Own up to your part, make amends, and then make sure you control your emotions going forward. Once you’ve done that, though, if your friend doesn’t accept your apology, doesn’t own his part, and doesn’t change his behavior, you have to walk away.”
Marvin took a second to check his latest text message. It was another angry tirade from his “friend.”
He sighed.
“You’ll be O.K., [Marvin],” I reassured him. “You’re learning a lot from this.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” he said.
“And you’ll be stronger because of it,” I said, adding a last question: “So what can you do the next time ‘friends’ in your room start throwing gay slurs around and won’t respect your boundaries or leave when asked?”
He paused, then said, “Find real friends.”
Marvin has indeed grown in more ways than height since his last Taekwondo class. And although I'm not crazy about the fact that he now towers over me, I'll gratefully be the smaller woman in exchange for him being a bigger man.
Last week I received a bittersweet call from a former Taekwondo student who had grown over 6 feet tall—in more ways than one.
I rarely get phone calls from my students, so it was a surprise and a treat to hear from Marvin.
As a frail, pip-squeak 8-year-old, Marvin walked into the dojang one day years ago with his mom. I thought he was a girl. He had beautiful, long and wavy golden blond hair. The only thing that indicated he was a boy was the sleeveless David Robinson San Antonio Spurs basketball jersey he wore and the fact that his mother referred to him as “he.”
Marvin studied Taekwondo with me for about three years until he reached green belt and budding basketball height. Now over 6 feet tall, Marvin was on his high school basketball team. But Marvin’s call indicated that he was growing in more ways than height. He was going through a hard social and emotional growth spurt after one of his friends struck him in anger.
“Oh, I admit it,” he began. “It was a stupid confrontation, and I started it.”
While in his room after school, Marvin and two friends were casually jawing when his friends began a tirade of gay slurs. Marvin asked them to stop.
“I said, ‘Hey, guys, that’s not cool,’ but they kept on,” Marvin explained. “Then I said, ‘You guys have to go. Seriously, I mean it.’”
They didn’t leave. Instead, one of his friends began to tease and taunt Marvin about being gay because he defended homosexuals. Marvin has a girlfriend, but that’s beside the point. His family raised him to be open-minded and open-hearted and to be compassionate, accepting, and respectful of everyone—period.
Marvin admits he was tired and overwhelmed by the stresses of school. His family also was dealing with a tough issue at home. So he asked his friends again to leave, but they remained. In a moment of frustration, Marvin made the terrible decision to throw a cup at one of his friends.
The cup hit his friend, and the friend exploded in a violent rage, repeatedly punching Marvin in the head.
Marvin said he saw the attack coming. “It was like a slow motion movie. As he was coming at me, I started thinking of all the ways I could take him down.” Then Marvin remembered something I said in class many years ago.
“You said to only use my skills if my life was in danger,” Marvin said. “Even though I haven’t been in class in years, I knew I still had skills that could really hurt him.”
He chose to take the hits and not fight back. Marvin’s other friend stood nearby and watched while the boy screamed and pounded Marvin’s head. The attack lasted only seconds, and then both friends left in a huff.
Marvin was shaken but thankfully wasn’t physically hurt. Instead, he was baffled by his friend’s strong reaction, which didn’t seem to match being hit by a cup.
Marvin had seen this side of his buddy before, but his friend’s anger had never been directed at him.
“I knew right after I threw the cup that I shouldn’t have thrown it,” he said on the phone. “I wish I could have taken that cup back. But it was too late, and then [his friend] just flew into a rage.”
“You obviously struck a nerve,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s had a rough life so far,” said Marvin, who described the foster homes his friend had been in before being recently adopted.
“I would bet his biological parents were abusive, and that they threw things at him,” I said.
“That sounds right,” Marvin replied.
There was a pause in the conversation, then I said, “You know you could have blocked, right? Blocking an attack is OK. Even if you started it, you didn’t have to sit there and take it.”
“I know,” he said. “I just chose not to fight back.”
The incident opened a dialogue about his relationship with this boy, and whether they were really friends.
“Well, I started it. I shouldn’t have thrown the cup,” he said.
“True,” I agreed. “Did you apologize?”
“I did,” Marvin said, adding that it didn’t do much good. His friend had already texted and emailed him with trash talk and was threatening to post disparaging things about Marvin on Facebook.
“If you are sincerely remorseful, and you make amends by never repeating that behavior again, then you’ve done your part,” I said. “You can’t force him to accept your apology, and you don’t have to take further abuse.”
It was during our conversation that Marvin questioned whether his friend was a bully.
“Friend” bullying happens more than some might think. In this situation, it appears his friend took on the role of a Bully, Marvin was the Target, and his other friend was the Bystander, who did nothing.
Marvin was able to recognize the dynamics and of how this wasn’t the first time events had played out this way.
Marvin was disappointed in himself—wishing he hadn’t thrown the cup—but also disappointed in the friend who exploded and the bystander friend who did nothing.
“I know it’s hard,” I said, “but sometimes you have to let people go.
“Own up to your part, make amends, and then make sure you control your emotions going forward. Once you’ve done that, though, if your friend doesn’t accept your apology, doesn’t own his part, and doesn’t change his behavior, you have to walk away.”
Marvin took a second to check his latest text message. It was another angry tirade from his “friend.”
He sighed.
“You’ll be O.K., [Marvin],” I reassured him. “You’re learning a lot from this.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” he said.
“And you’ll be stronger because of it,” I said, adding a last question: “So what can you do the next time ‘friends’ in your room start throwing gay slurs around and won’t respect your boundaries or leave when asked?”
He paused, then said, “Find real friends.”
Marvin has indeed grown in more ways than height since his last Taekwondo class. And although I'm not crazy about the fact that he now towers over me, I'll gratefully be the smaller woman in exchange for him being a bigger man.
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