Since my Taekwondo students and I began sharing space at a ving tsun kung fu school, we’ve had some powerful end-of-class discussions. I’m convinced it’s the vibe. The studio’s chi invites honest, open communication; compassion; and awareness.
Yesterday’s mat chat was another mind-blower. It all started when I asked everyone how school was going.
Most nodded. “Good,” they said.
“Today I had a problem with this kid,” Neal, a nine-year-old orange belt, offered.
“Oh?” I said. “Tell us about it.”
“He threw a football at my back—twice. I told him not to do it because I had rods in my back and that he could really hurt me. I even showed him my scars.”
Twice a year, Neal undergoes a surgical procedure to help his spine grow properly.
“Wow,” I said. “And did the kid keep throwing the football at you after that?”
“No. I don’t think he realized that when I told him that I had surgery that it was serious,” Neal said, his eyes growing wide.
I sat there for a moment, taking in how a nine-year-old could muster up this much courage.
“I’m so proud of you for confronting him,” I said. “I’m also proud of how you did it. You didn’t shame him or call him names or lash out in anger. You educated him on something he was clueless about.”
Neal smiled. “I just don’t think he realized how serious it was.”
Elliott, an eleven-year-old green belt, shared next. He’d been struggling to be heard by an Ultimate Frisbee teammate. The older, bigger classmate was pairing up people to guard opposing players without regard for his teammates’ preferences.
“I’m really sorry he’s doing that,” I said. “How could this be different?”
“I’m not sure,” Elliott said.
“Does this kid bully everyone on the field?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well then what if you talked to some of your peers about standing up to him as a group.”
Elliott paused. I sensed discomfort.
“Can you at least think about it?”
“Yes, I’ll think about it.”
“Because here’s the deal: Can you play Ultimate Frisbee by yourself?”
“No!” everyone in the class answered.
“So if as a group you told him that his behavior was unacceptable and that if he didn’t let other teammates participate in the pairings, none of you would play anymore, he wouldn’t have anyone to play with, would he? Then he might be willing to change. You’ll never know until you try it out.”
“I’ll think about it,” Elliott repeated.
Last to share was Alice, a ten-year-old purple belt.
“There’s this boy in my class who’s been really mean to me,” she began. “But then I saw him with his father at open house night at school, and his father was really mean to him. I felt sorry for him that he was growing up like that. And I saw why he’s mean. So I decided to be his friend.”
The room suddenly became so quiet that you could have heard a feather drop.
A parent listening from the spectator section whispered, “Oh, wow.”
“That is mature beyond years, young lady,” I said. “You’re so right about why he acts that way, too. Kids aren’t born bullies. It’s a learned behavior. He learned it from someone else.
“And you know, guys, this is exactly what we need to keep in mind when someone is ugly to us. It’s not you. It’s them. They have the problem. And Alice, I’m so incredibly proud of you. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said with a sweet smile.
Though it was sad to hear that so many of my students were struggling with bullies, it also was encouraging to see that their martial arts training was paying huge dividends.
Showing posts with label Choices. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Choices. Show all posts
Friday, November 15, 2013
Friday, January 21, 2011
If You Have a Voice, You Have a Choice
My newest students at the East Communities YMCA are a cross-culture mix of women and children—all in the midst of transforming weak peeps into powerful, self-confident voices through the study of Taekwondo and self-defense.
These students are learning that when they stand up for themselves and others, opportunities and hope become abundant.
My Tiny Texans (ages 3-6) can easily name the four weapons every person is born with: two feet and two hands. But no matter the age, everyone seems to stumble on naming the fifth one.
“Head!” one boy shouts out in class one day.
I nod approvingly. “Not a bad guess,” I say. “Yes, keeping a clear head is a vital asset in self-defense, but that’s not the answer I was looking for. Who else has an answer?”
“Eyes!” a girl shouts.
“Elbows!” another boy says.
“Knees!” two siblings agree.
The students keep guessing until finally the meekest girl in the room shyly raises her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Diller?”
“Your voice,” the 7-year-old squeaks.
“YES!” I shout, giving her a high-five. She smiles through missing front teeth.
Students rarely think of their voice as a weapon. Sure, everyday we see people yelling at each other on the street and on television. But rarely is the voice demonstrated as a positive, gentle-yet-firm tool to de-escalate confrontation or stand ground when boundaries are crossed.
A surprising number of women who attend my self-defense class for the first time struggle not to laugh or feel silly when they kihap, or use their spirit voice, while kicking or punching. So over the years, I’ve developed a fun, easy drill called “Blink/Don’t Blink.” When I find students who are shy about using their voice, I have them practice projecting the power of their kihap to make their partner blink. When on the receiving end of the kihap, students try to stay centered, calm, and unnerved—known in Japanese martial arts circles as the “state of no mind.”
Two new white belts—11-year-old twin brothers forever on the cusp of fierce competition and sibling bickering—had no problem finding their voice the other day once they stopped giggling.
At first they couldn’t keep a straight face.
“O.K.,” I said, “five push-ups every time you laugh at your brother.”
“One, ma’am; two, ma’am...,” they counted as they lifted and lowered their plank-straight bodies on the mat.
They each did a couple sets of push-ups, and became more serious.
“Ha!” one brother yelled. His twin still snickered.
“One, ma’am; two ma’am...” his brother counted as he did push-ups.
“Try again,” I said, encouraging them to picture themselves in a self-defense situation.
“No!” one yelled at the other, making him blink.
“Shut up!” the other retorted.
“O.K.,” I interrupted. “That was good. But I didn’t make myself clear on the parameters of this drill. Let’s be respectful. What’s another way to stand up for yourself without saying ‘shut up’?”
“Back away!” the brother shouted.
“Better!” I cheered.
Both brothers smiled. They were proud of what they were learning—forgetting that just moments before they couldn’t look each other in the eye without busting a gut.
As a teacher, it’s always a good day when you see your students grow and break barriers. Women who find their voice, though, are the most exciting for me to teach, for with this type of awakening, they tear down years of society’s messages of:
• “Be a nice girl.”
• “Don’t rock the boat.”
• “Ladies don’t act that way.”
• “You can’t say that.”
• “If you speak up like that, people will start calling you a b----.”
In addition, many women and youth I teach these days live on the poorest side of town. They may already believe messages such as:
• “You’re destined to stay poor and powerless.”
• “Your options in life are limited.”
• “Look out for No. 1 because no one’s got your back.”
• “You might as well get high because you’re life’s not going anywhere.”
Get a group of women and kids together in one of my martial arts classes, though, and watch a light go on in their psyche, a flame flicker in their spirit, and a powerful, previously squashed voice rise from the depths of their soul.
Last Sunday, one lady in my Fit for Defense class almost made herself blink from the voice that erupted like a volcano from her diaphragm. Another woman who came in with a chirp left with a voice as strong as a bullhorn.
They stumbled out of the room afterward amazed by their meager personal triumphs. I wanted to tell them that more will be revealed, but I feared they couldn’t handle any more empowerment, lest their spirits go supernova right there.
I’m blessed that on my journey, many martial arts masters helped me find my voice. I’m honored to pass on my knowledge—to help others find their voices, too. It’s one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to build hope in others?
If you have a voice, you have a choice.
And from there, anything is possible.
These students are learning that when they stand up for themselves and others, opportunities and hope become abundant.
My Tiny Texans (ages 3-6) can easily name the four weapons every person is born with: two feet and two hands. But no matter the age, everyone seems to stumble on naming the fifth one.
“Head!” one boy shouts out in class one day.
I nod approvingly. “Not a bad guess,” I say. “Yes, keeping a clear head is a vital asset in self-defense, but that’s not the answer I was looking for. Who else has an answer?”
“Eyes!” a girl shouts.
“Elbows!” another boy says.
“Knees!” two siblings agree.
The students keep guessing until finally the meekest girl in the room shyly raises her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Diller?”
“Your voice,” the 7-year-old squeaks.
“YES!” I shout, giving her a high-five. She smiles through missing front teeth.
Students rarely think of their voice as a weapon. Sure, everyday we see people yelling at each other on the street and on television. But rarely is the voice demonstrated as a positive, gentle-yet-firm tool to de-escalate confrontation or stand ground when boundaries are crossed.
A surprising number of women who attend my self-defense class for the first time struggle not to laugh or feel silly when they kihap, or use their spirit voice, while kicking or punching. So over the years, I’ve developed a fun, easy drill called “Blink/Don’t Blink.” When I find students who are shy about using their voice, I have them practice projecting the power of their kihap to make their partner blink. When on the receiving end of the kihap, students try to stay centered, calm, and unnerved—known in Japanese martial arts circles as the “state of no mind.”
Two new white belts—11-year-old twin brothers forever on the cusp of fierce competition and sibling bickering—had no problem finding their voice the other day once they stopped giggling.
At first they couldn’t keep a straight face.
“O.K.,” I said, “five push-ups every time you laugh at your brother.”
“One, ma’am; two, ma’am...,” they counted as they lifted and lowered their plank-straight bodies on the mat.
They each did a couple sets of push-ups, and became more serious.
“Ha!” one brother yelled. His twin still snickered.
“One, ma’am; two ma’am...” his brother counted as he did push-ups.
“Try again,” I said, encouraging them to picture themselves in a self-defense situation.
“No!” one yelled at the other, making him blink.
“Shut up!” the other retorted.
“O.K.,” I interrupted. “That was good. But I didn’t make myself clear on the parameters of this drill. Let’s be respectful. What’s another way to stand up for yourself without saying ‘shut up’?”
“Back away!” the brother shouted.
“Better!” I cheered.
Both brothers smiled. They were proud of what they were learning—forgetting that just moments before they couldn’t look each other in the eye without busting a gut.
As a teacher, it’s always a good day when you see your students grow and break barriers. Women who find their voice, though, are the most exciting for me to teach, for with this type of awakening, they tear down years of society’s messages of:
• “Be a nice girl.”
• “Don’t rock the boat.”
• “Ladies don’t act that way.”
• “You can’t say that.”
• “If you speak up like that, people will start calling you a b----.”
In addition, many women and youth I teach these days live on the poorest side of town. They may already believe messages such as:
• “You’re destined to stay poor and powerless.”
• “Your options in life are limited.”
• “Look out for No. 1 because no one’s got your back.”
• “You might as well get high because you’re life’s not going anywhere.”
Get a group of women and kids together in one of my martial arts classes, though, and watch a light go on in their psyche, a flame flicker in their spirit, and a powerful, previously squashed voice rise from the depths of their soul.
Last Sunday, one lady in my Fit for Defense class almost made herself blink from the voice that erupted like a volcano from her diaphragm. Another woman who came in with a chirp left with a voice as strong as a bullhorn.
They stumbled out of the room afterward amazed by their meager personal triumphs. I wanted to tell them that more will be revealed, but I feared they couldn’t handle any more empowerment, lest their spirits go supernova right there.
I’m blessed that on my journey, many martial arts masters helped me find my voice. I’m honored to pass on my knowledge—to help others find their voices, too. It’s one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to build hope in others?
If you have a voice, you have a choice.
And from there, anything is possible.
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