The Self-Control Trials of a 7-Year-Old

Another one of my boys grew last week. Not in inches, but in indomitable and immeasurable spirit.

As chief instructor of a small martial arts school, it’s my job to keep everyone who enters the school mindful of our true goal: building better character everyday. Some come in thinking they’ll learn to kick and punch. They do. Others come in thinking they’ll learn to break boards. They do. But most don’t come in thinking that they’ll learn to be strong, honest, responsible, respectful, and compassionate people. But they do.

In my 10 years as an instructor, teaching character hasn’t been easy. Some kids are “teacher pleasers” – never failing to listen, follow directions, try their best, and do the right thing. Others are rebellious. Still others simply have fierce dragons – fiery emotions that they struggle to control.

I’ve demoted students – taken stripes away, bumped them down a belt (sometimes more) – for a variety of “crimes against character.” The first time I demoted a student, I thought it would break my heart. Or his. But neither happened, and today that kid is a second-degree black belt and sophomore at Yale University. (He also towers over me, which I think is quite unfair.)

Today both of us are stronger and better people. Yet teaching – and learning – important character lessons never gets any easier.

As much as I adhere to the Tony DiCicco “Catch Them Being Good” positive coaching philosophy, sometimes I have to be – apologies for the harsh language – a hard ass.

Like last week.

Little Z, all of 7 years old, was sitting on a metal folding chair in my office, his short legs dangling, not even long enough to touch the blue carpet. Tears welled up in his eyes. A sweet-hearted, hardworking yellow belt, Z was two weeks away from promoting to orange belt. But earlier in the day, he had a little problem with self-control. He let anger get the worst of him.

That morning, Z was at a neighborhood park playing a game with another kid when things turned ugly. Z got mad because the kid was physically bullying him, and not playing the game fairly. Z pushed the boy and then tried to hit him in the face. (Z missed, thank goodness.) When Z’s mother told him to apologize to the boy, he refused, and then threw a verbal fit.

Now, just a few hours later, Z was sitting in my office at the martial arts school, head hanging low and looking quite uncomfortable. Fresh from his sparring class, Z’s tussled, sweaty bangs hung above his big brown eyes. He was almost too adorable to punish. But I’ve learned that letting kids off lightly doesn’t do them any favors.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I asked him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he quietly and gently replied.

I asked Z to tell me what happened, and I was proud that his story matched the one his mother just told me. (Chalk up one point for honesty!)

I held Z’s dirty yellow belt in my hands.

“Z, you understand that we only use Taekwondo to protect ourselves and our families, right? Only when our lives are in danger?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tears welled up in both eyes, and a single one emerged and then rolled a slow, curving path down his left cheek. It stopped at his chin and hung there, waiting – just like Z was waiting with me now.

“Now, the way I see it, you made three really bad choices today,” I continued. “In Taekwondo, one of the five tenets is self-control, and today you lost that.”

He nodded sadly. The tear finally dropped to the lap of his white dobok pants.

“You tried to strike someone in anger. And that’s wrong. You know that, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His big, brown, sad-puppy dog eyes looked straight into mine, and I had to pray for strength.

I took his belt in my left hand as I slid open my desk drawer and grabbed a pair of scissors. “You’re lucky your punch missed. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt that young man. But because you tried to hit him in anger, that’s one,” I said as I snipped off one of two orange stripes from his yellow belt.

I tore off the strip of colored electrical tape and threw it into the trash can. “There goes a lot of hard work.”

He swallowed hard.

“Then you refused to apologize to the boy, showing a lack of respect to your peers, and a refusal to take personal responsibility for your actions. That’s two,” I said, snipping off the other orange stripe. I tossed it, too, into the trash.

Multiple tears began a NASCAR race down both cheeks.

“Z, you’re lucky you only have two stripes on your belt, because had you had three, you would have lost one more, because you were disrespectful to your mom.”

He nodded that he understood.

“You also don’t get to take the next test with the other yellow belts. Do you understand?”

“Yes…,” – tears were really gushing now from Z’s eyes, and he began sucking wind the way kids do when they’re really sad or hurt – “…ma’am.”

“Z, I know this is a hard lesson for you to learn, but it’s best you learn it from me than to get into real trouble someday because you can’t control yourself when you get mad.”

His eyes were a bloodshot red. He kept crying and sucking wind, crying and sucking wind. I knew that he was truly sorry for his behavior, and for a moment, I wanted to give him a big hug. I thought, “Geez, Cathy, he’s was only 7! Don’t be so hard on him.” I knew this was an important moment, though. The playground incident probably wasn’t the first time he’d lashed out in anger, but I needed to do my best to make sure it was the last.

As I looked at his yellow belt, I noticed a very bright yellow strip where one of the orange stripes had been. I showed it to him.

“Look, Z. Belts don’t lie. See here?” I asked, pointing to the bright yellow area. “You didn’t learn an important lesson here – that you have to practice self-control, that you can’t use Taekwondo when you get mad.”

He looked hard at the belt.

“Z, you’re good at Taekwondo. Real good. Already you could hurt someone with your feet and hands, and that’s why I have to do this today. But I want you to know that while I’m disappointed in how you acted today, I’m not mad at you. I just want you to learn self-control. I want this bright yellow part of your belt to match the gritty, gutsy, hard work, and good decisions of the rest of the belt. And I know you can do it.”

“Yes … (sucking more wind) … ma’am,” he said.

I invited his mother into the office, and together we agreed that the next time he sees the boy in the park, Z would apologize to him for his actions. Then Z, with his mom or dad by his side, would have to apologize to the boy’s parents, too.

I dismissed Z, and after he walked out of the office, his mom told me that this wasn’t the first time he’d lost his temper. However, it was the first time he’d done so in public.

As we both walked out of the office, Z’s mother turned around, looked me in the eye, and thanked me.

She. Thanked. Me.

How many parents these days will thank a teacher for being a hard ass to their kids?

I know we have a special school, but I again was blown away at the truly extraordinary relationships we build and maintain at Tao of Texas. And I felt validated that – although I never enjoy coming down hard on good kids – I’d done the right thing.

Out in the lobby, as Z sat on the floor putting on his little tennis shoes, he was still crying and looking very sad. I wanted to end our time together on a positive note.

“Z, I want you to know that I do love you, and I believe in you,” I said, smiling. “So you just keep coming back. Don’t quit.”

His lips turned up slightly – enough to show that a rainbow of resolve was likely to emerge at the end of his self-created storm – and he mouthed an inaudible, “Yes, ma’am.”

“See you next week,” I said smiling.

I’ve mentored enough kids to make these predictions:
• Z will learn to control his actions, to communicate with others in a respectful manner (even when they piss him off), and to verbally stand up to bullies instead of trying to physically go toe-to-toe.
• One day – sooner than I’d like – he’ll be a fine, outstanding and upstanding black belt who towers over me and heads off to some grand university, where he’ll face a new set of challenges.
• He’ll remember this day for the rest of his life. And I will, too.

The Good Character Challenge

Character development is the cornerstone of my youth martial arts program. Look around -- in department stores, groceries, schoolyards, street corners, and on the Internet -- and you'll see why. Our children are woefully lacking in good character these days. Just some examples:

• Some Fort Worth, Texas, cheerleaders reportedly thought it was a good idea to spike sodas with urine and then gleefully give them to teammates.
• Some teenagers in Massachusetts reportedly bullied a classmate to the point that she committed suicide.
• Enough student athletes use steroids that some school districts now test, or are considering testing, for performance enhancing drugs.

We read about these incidents every day, and in the moment, we are shocked and appalled. But how many of us can go one day without:

• telling a little white lie?
• sticking company office supplies in our briefcase or purse "by accident"?
• showing up late to work, or leaving early
• spending way more on our credit card than WE KNOW we can repay
• driving over the speed limit, taking a U-turn when the sign clearly states it is against the law, or turning right on a red light when another sign tells us not to?

Where has good character gone in this country? Is it no longer valued? Have we given up the good fight for honesty and virtue?

Alas, my stubborn nature is beneficial after all, for I haven't given up on people young and old doing the right thing at the right time for the right reason -- even when no one is looking.

Years ago, my Taekwondo grandmaster had his young students memorize 10 basic rules to live by. One problem was that he made the students memorize and verbally recite these rules, but never checked to see if they were actually adhering to them. The other problem was that each rule started out, "Children must....," as if only youths need character development. When I opened Tao of Texas Martial Arts Institute, I made a point to have guidelines that begin with "WE must..." because everyone, at every age, could have better character. Even, and especially, me.

Take a look at the rules my students must follow to qualify for promotion in my Taekwondo program. How many can you check off every day?

1. We must respect our parents and family members AT ALL TIMES.
2. We must greet family members when we come home, and say goodbye when we leave.
3. We must be honest and truthful AT ALL TIMES.
4. We must build and maintain a good relationship with our brothers and sisters AT ALL TIMES.
5. We must help with household chores.
6. We must wash our hair and body, and brush our teeth every day.
7. We must clean our room and keep it clean.
8. We must not rudely interrupt another’s conversation.
9. We must complete our homework (or project) and turn it in on time.
10. We must respect our teachers and peers AT ALL TIMES.

Heck, Congress could use a little of No. 10 right now! And did anyone get stuck on No. 8? I listen to adults talk to each other all the time, and it's like watching a constant rerun of "Interrupt-Ville." Few people know how to let others finish a sentence before they begin spouting their self-important point of view.

I ask my students which ones they struggle with the most, and overwhelmingly, it's keeping a good relationship with siblings. How are you doing in that arena? Personally, I still have a looooong way to grow. Due to my students' inspiring efforts, though, I've been making baby-step improvements and have been making regular attempts to call my two sisters more often and to be patient and compassionate when they are bickering with each other, which right now is all the time.

I struggle most with No. 1. I don't call my mom and dad enough. I'm working on that, but having been an absentee daughter in the past, it's a hard habit to break. Still, my students offer the inspiration for me to keep trying.

Last week, I dropped everything to go be with my mom as her sister was dying. She said last night that she was so happy that I did.

"I knew you'd come," she said. "You didn't say you were coming, but I knew you would."

It meant a lot to her that I came, and it meant a lot to me to hear her say it made her happy, for I have not always made her happy.

None of us is perfect. Every day is character in progress for me. Take this morning: I woke up, put the back of my hand to my forehead, and sighed, "I don't have a fever." I swallowed. No sore throat. I sighed again, thinking about the sometimes-boring work I do in the mornings at a publishing company, then resolved, "Well, I'm not sick, so I guess I'd better get going." Then I rolled out of bed to begin my day.

We all have our character defects struggles. Years ago, a friend of mine told me her boss had a "come to Buddha" meeting with her about the fact that my friend had been arriving to work every day about 30 minutes late, taking a longer lunch than allowed, and then leaving about 30 minutes early.

"Well no wonder she's upset. That's theft." I said deadpanned. "You're stealing from the company."

She looked stunned. My friend had never seen it that way.

"How long have you been doing this?" I asked.

"Oh, maybe about a year," she said.

"Wow. That's a lot of money you owe the company."

Her jaw dropped. Her olive complexion became ashen. I told her how lucky she was that her boss didn't fire her on the spot. She thought about it, and later went home and calculated all the time she had "stolen" from the company. For MANY months afterward, she came in early, worked through lunches, and stayed late to repay all that time she took off. Her boss never questioned why she was working extra hours.

Another friend thought it was O.K. to pay for one movie ticket at the theater, and, after the movie was over, waltz on over to the movie across the hall without paying. She, too, didn't see that she was stealing from the movie theater. Now, though, when she goes to "the movies," she more specifically goes to see "a movie."

I have never been more proud of my friends.

I'd like to say that the friend who struggled to stay at work has never again failed to put in a good day's work for an honest day's pay, and I'd like to say I always call my mom and dad when I should. The truth? Neither of us is perfect. Everyone falls victim to their weak character defects from time to time, especially when hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. But now she knows that whatever time she fudges on, she must make up, and I know that I have no excuse ("it's too early/too late to call") for not keeping in touch with my parents.

I've made every character mistake in the book in my life. Today, though, I take these rules seriously, and my students know it. The penalty at the school for flagrant violation of our basic rules is loss of belt rank and possible suspension. Some students have indeed lost rank for various infractions: making Fs because they didn't turn in homework, being unreasonably rude to their siblings, talking back to their parents, blaming the broken vase on the dog instead of saying they broke it when they were playing frisbee in the house. Am I hard on them? Why, yes, I guess I am. However, I'd rather they lose rank in a martial arts school and learn a vital lesson about being a better, stronger person than lose a parent's or friend's trust through lying, or worse, make a mistake so large that they lose their freedom via jail time.

So enough already. Developing and keeping good character is simple. I'll admit it's not easy, but very simple. You just do the right thing -- whether you like it or not, whether you want to or not, whether it's politically popular or not -- because it's the right thing to do.

What this means for me is that I show up to work on time, and I don't leave early just because the boss is gone for the day. It means I'll suffer the societal pressure of being honked at by the driver behind me who wants me to turn on red when the sign says not to. It means I'm going to report the cash that student just handed me for a used uniform that wasn't in the school's inventory. It means I'm going to tell the truth about why I was late to meet my friend (I screwed up) instead of making an excuse that "sounds good." And it means I will have to let myself look bad from time to time. It means I will make mistakes and own up to them as quickly as possible instead of pointing the finger at someone else, rationalizing, or justifying my behavior.

Will I always feel better about telling the truth? Honestly, maybe not in the moment (because I'm a perfectionist who's all about looking good), but eventually, I will see the value in truth and be glad I owned up to it. (Plus, I don't have to keep lies straight in my head if I tell the truth the first time.)

If my students can follow these simple rules, everyone can step up to the big-boy Character Development plate, too.

So, I dare you: Take the Good Character Challenge. Follow the above-mentioned 10 basic rules for one week. And let me know how it goes.

Be honest....