Knowing When Not to Persevere

My students have really taken a liking to our “Don’t Quit” motto—even the Tiny Texans.

Case in point:

Yesterday, 5-year-old Zephyr had a gnarly stomach virus. He felt awful, but at the same time, he was sad about having to miss Taekwondo class.

So he shored up all the indomitable fighting spirit he had and declared to his mother: “I’m in control of my body and won’t throw up in class.”

Poor little thing! I was so touched that he was trying to practice the Taekwondo tenets of perseverance—and self-control.

Mean Mommy made him stay home anyway. (Smart mommy, if you asked me.)

For his willingness to come to class even though he didn’t feel well, though, Zephyr will get a special “self-care” stripe when he returns on Tuesday.

A Case for a Quiet Kihap

I encourage all my students to practice strong, loud kihaps, or spirit voices, so that they can defend themselves with ultimate power. No kihap is right or wrong. No two kihaps sound the same. If done with the right spirit, though, all kihaps should scare the crap out of you.

Three-year-old Logan loves to use his spirit voice. He takes it very seriously.

Recently Logan came running full speed into the Tiny Texans training room and made a beeline for me.

"Ms. Cathy," he began. His blond hair was ruffled and he was a tad out of breath. "I have [heavy breathing] something to tell you."

"Yes, sir, I'm all ears," I replied.

"My baby sister is coming with my daddy today!" he said, holding his index finger up in the air.

"Wow! How exciting is that?" I replied.

"Yeah, I have to make sure I don’t scare her with my kihap," he said in a serious tone, then darted off to run circles around the room with his classmates.

U.S. Open Opens World of Possibilities

Volunteering to do service work at Taekwondo tournaments

has enriched all our martial arts experiences.
 



On Friday morning, I led 4-year-old Caroline by the hand at the Austin Convention Center, which for the week had been transformed into one huge dojang for the 20th U.S. Open Taekwondo Championships.

In its 20 years, the U.S. Open has been a destination for many athletes with Olympic dreams. The tournament itself has matured into one of the highest World Taekwondo Federation points-rated competitions in the world. This year it drew over 1,500 competitors from countries as Australia, Azerbaijan, Brazil, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, Ecuador, Egypt, El Salvador, France, Germany, Ghana, Great Britain, Hong Kong, India, Israel, Ivory Coast, Mexico, Morocco, the Netherlands, Pakistan, Puerto Rico, Russia, Serbia, Sweden, Switzerland, the United States, and Venezuela.

This season, though, the tournament was a destination for the Diller family, and it inspired big dreams in a little girl deep in the heart of Texas.

Caroline, one of almost two dozen Tao of Texas Martial Arts students who volunteered for the tournament, is one of my Tiny Texans, a mini-martial artist with a lively, energetic, and curious spirit. She came to the Convention Center to volunteer with her mom, older brother Ian, and big sister Eliza. As payment for her cute services, USA Taekwondo gave Caroline an orange U.S. Open volunteer/souvenir T-shirt that went down to her ankles, the chance to cart sparring helmets from ring to ring, and time to read her new flip book while her mom filmed gold-medal matches. Later that morning, a USA Taekwondo staff member gave her a free meal ticket, and another passed her a clip-on koala that the coach from Australia brought as gifts. She proudly clipped the koala to her lanyard.

Many Olympic medalists were there—some walking around in uniform waiting for their turn to compete, some in inconspicuous street clothes. But seeing Olympic stars, hearing numerous foreign languages spoken, and seeing bright, colorful country flags flying overhead may not be what Caroline remembers most about her first Taekwondo tournament. She’ll one day outgrow the T-shirt and lose the trinket. But one thing she’s likely to keep forever is the sight of female leadership at the tournament.

As I gingerly led Caroline around the 11 rings, we kept our eyes open for white match sheets. They contained pertinent information such as names of the athletes, countries they represent, and weight divisions. When we saw a paper with a winning athlete's name circled, we picked it up and delivered it to the tournament desk so that the next bracket could be created.

At one referee desk, a senior female official was finalizing a match sheet, so we waited patiently nearby. This particular referee is a veteran known for her demanding style and clear understanding of the rules. She wants her referees to do right things right the first time, and she can be quite intimidating.

I've been at these tournaments before, though, so I knew she had a soft side.

"See that lady at the referee desk?" I asked Caroline. We were close enough for the official to hear me. "She's wearing a blue jacket, and that means she is a very important referee. She can conduct matches all over the world!"

"Really?" Caroline said, her eyes widening.

When the referee looked as if she was finished with her paperwork, I told Caroline, "Ask her if she has any results for us to take back to the tournament desk."

The referee heard me and dutifully played along.

"Do you have any results?" Caroline squeaked, a bit shyly.

The referee turned to us. "Here," she said with a kind smile, handing the paper to Caroline.

"How do you say 'thank you' in Korean?" I asked Caroline.

Caroline smiled at the referee. "Com sam nee dah," she said.

"Comsa Hamnidah!" the referee repeated, giving me an approving nod.

"You're starting them young!" she smiled.

"Yes, ma'am, I am," I replied.

We zigzagged our way through the rings and spotted a match that was about to end, so we hung out to take those results back, too. Nearby, a female coach was standing next to her player as they waited for their match to begin.

"See this lady, Caroline?" I asked, kneeling down next to her. "She’s a coach. I can remember just a few short years ago, there weren’t many female coaches out there in the sparring ring."

The woman turned, looked down at me and Caroline, and smiled.

"But that’s changed, hasn’t it, ma’am?" I said, looking up at the coach. I winked.

"Yes, it has," she confirmed. "We’ve come a long way."

"What that means, Caroline, is that you can be a coach one day, too," I said.

Caroline beamed. Her golden blonde hair seemed to glow.

"Me?" she asked innocently. "I can be a coach?"

"Absolutely," I said. I looked up at the coach. She nodded yes to Caroline.

It was as if Caroline had just been given a new toy. She was excited, and her thoughts immediately turned to her big brother, Ian, whom she adores.

"Then I can be Ian’s coach!" she screamed in halleluiah fashion.

"Yes you can!" I laughed.

Caroline smiled wide, and as we continued walking around the hall, she’d squeeze my hand a little tighter as she repeated, "I’m going to be Ian’s coach when I grow up!"

Potty Training as the First Step in the Thousand-Mile Journey

Tiny Texans is our entry-level class for students ages 3-6.

You read that right: 3 years old.

They are an eager, excited, and gut-busting, hilarious group. Honestly, at that age, it’s downright impossible to teach them true Taekwondo. And while I do teach these students a little kicking and punching (always emphasizing that they don’t kick and punch ANYONE ANYWHERE unless they’re in uniform at the Dojang with a paddle in front of them), I mostly focus on developing body awareness and listening skills, and improving balance, body coordination, and respect for others. The kids love it and we have a lot of fun together.

Their parents love the class, too – not only because I wear out their children (who after class are tired and don’t fuss so much when it’s time for bed), but also because I introduce and reinforce basic yet important rules to follow at home:

• Say “yes, ma’am” to Mommy and “yes, sir” to Daddy
• Brush your teeth when you’re told
• Don’t argue about taking baths
• Be nice to your baby sister and brother
• Never lie

From the wooden benches in our spectator section, toddlers of past and current Tiny Texans watch and eagerly wait for the day they’ll get the chance to get out on the mat and kick and punch. But just because they turn 3 doesn’t mean they automatically gain admission to Tiny Texans. They also know that before they can join my class, they must be able to:

1. Follow instructions
2. Pay attention during the entire class
3. Not pee on my mat

No. 3 is non-negotiable.

So I had to smile and chuckle this morning when I received the following email from an excited parent whose pistol of a child had a recent breakthrough:

“Guess who’s potty trained? That’s right! As soon as he got it 100%, he said, ‘Now I can do martial arts!’ He is 3 (years old) now, so can we try it out for September?”

God, I love my job….