The Black Belt Candidate Pep Talk

It's an honor to be a teacher, to give students tools for self-improvement (planting the seeds of strength and self-esteem) and then patiently wait and watch them grow. Some stretch tall. Some expand wide. Others fly to incredible heights.

It's quite an accomplishment for a student at ANY age to take a black belt exam in ANY martial art. And I've learned the hard way that a good instructor knows when to be tough and when to be supportive. That's especially important during the last few days of Black Belt Test Month. During this important time, when the student is on the verge of completing a rite of passage years in the making, there is no time for stern lectures or admonishments. Now, a good instructor pours on the love, support, and encouragement.

Below is the last piece of advice I give students about to face their BLACK BELT TESTS.

But you don't have to be a black-belt-in-waiting to benefit. Read it and ask yourself, "Who in MY life needs to hear good, supporting, loving words from ME today?"

(Don't be surprised if that person is YOU.)

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Dear Black Belt Candidates,

Right about now, you're probably feeling a whirlwind of emotions: fear, excitement, gratitude, nausea. You may even feel frustrated, angry, and impatient. Maybe you're wishing the test were already over so that you can relax. Well, you CAN relax in a way: Everything you’re feeling is normal. (Wink.)

Black Belt Test Month can be a highly charged, emotional experience. It's the culmination of years, months, weeks, days, hours, and minute-by-minute honing of a myriad martial arts and self-defense skills. You’ve huffed and puffed, and sweated bullets. You’ve downed millions of gallons of water and bottles of Gatorade to stay hydrated. You’ve given and taken hits to the stomach, kidneys, ribs, head, chest, and even some shots below the belt, and you’ve gotten back up, shaken off the cobwebs, and continued.

Check it: The kind of mental, physical, and spiritual work you've been doing doesn't just come and go unnoticed.

You've learned a great deal in your time with me, and I want you to know today that I'M SO PROUD OF YOU I CAN HARDLY STAND IT! I'm your greatest fan and will be rooting for you as you walk the gauntlet in your individual rites of passage.

Now, though, is your turn to pump yourselves up. A positive mental condition is essential to succeed in this endeavor – and amid life’s greatest challenges. Find a quiet spot somewhere in the house. Take a walk in the park or find a quiet hiking trail to explore. Spend some quality time every day between now and the test to quiet the body, mind, and heart and fill yourselves with positive affirmations.

Remember the following:
• You're mentally, physically, and spiritually stronger than your FIRST day in class.
• You can kick faster and harder than you did as a white belt.
• Your stamina and endurance (no matter WHERE it is today) is FAR BETTER than it was when you began this journey.
• You did that one extra pushup, sit-up, kick, and punch when you didn’t think you could – and you can do it again.
• OMG, you can BREAK BOARDS with your hands and feet! How many people in the school you attend, the office at which you work, or the grocery store in which you shop can say the same?
• Since you began your training, hundreds of students have bowed onto the mat, bowed off the mat, and ultimately quit, and even more advanced belts have avoided this daunting challenge. YOU REMAIN. That alone says a lot about your level of perseverance and fortitude.
• I told you to keep coming back, to suit up and to show up one day at a time – that that is what really turns a white belt into a black belt. You heard me, and you’ve been coming back FOR YEARS. Not surprisingly, your white belt has slowly darkened and is on the verge of becoming black.

There is so much for which to be grateful, so take stock in the next few days. Give a little thanks to those folks who’ve supported you along the way – parents, children, teachers, co-workers, even (and especially) your BFFs on Facebook.

Remember that not everyone in the world wears a black belt because this is HARD WORK. Martial arts pushes you physically. It pushes your mental buttons. It challenges your spirit. It makes you look yourself in the mirror, and ask the hard question: “Am I happy/satisfied with who I am?” If the answer is no, martial arts gives you the tools to transform yourself into the person you’ve always dreamed of being.

This has not been an easy road you have trudged. The journey has been long and hard. But you’re on the cusp of a very important milestone.

So go forth today with confidence, humility, and grace. Do your best on the test. Leave it all out on the mat. Let your performance be the bar you set for how you live your life from now on.

Most importantly, BREATHE...

Your greatest fan,
Cathy Chapaty

Flimsy Fist Learns to Punch

The following fable was inspired by a real student.

ONCE UPON A TIME in a town called Practice, Practice lived a young man named Flimsy Fist. Flimsy Fist was born in the nearby village of Neglectville, where he lived with his brother and angry parents. His mother and father beat him so bad that the State had to take Flimsy Fist and his brother away from his parents. After living in one foster home after another, Flimsy Fist was finally invited to live with two kind and loving monks who were committed to helping him heal from his physical and emotional wounds.

Although Flimsy Fist now lived in a safe and loving sanctuary, he still suffered from fear and low self-esteem. He didn’t think the two monks would actually let him live with them forever. He thought that any day now they would kick him out—or kick him around, just like his parents. He longed to feel brave and strong, but he didn’t know how.

Only one thing made Flimsy Fist feel better.

Every day on the walk home from school, Flimsy Fist stopped at a local martial arts school. He’d peer into the windows and watch as the students punched, blocked, and kicked like battle-ready samurais. He wanted the courage they had, but he was too afraid to ask how they got it. Besides, he thought he was too weak for martial arts.

One day, Flimsy Fist was especially awed by the student warriors, so much so that he didn’t notice that the master instructor, Fighting Spirit, was standing right next to him by the window. Fighting Spirit was well known in Practice, Practice for his physical strength, mental toughness, and peaceful spirit. He produced the town’s most powerful and promising leaders.

“Hello, son,” Fighting Spirit said in a deep, gentle voice.

Flimsy Fist looked up, eyes wide, not knowing what to say. He managed to eek out a weak, “Hi.”

“What is your name?” the master asked.

“My name is Flimsy Fist,” the boy mumbled.

“Hmm, interesting name,” Fighting Spirit said.

The master instructor stood before Flimsy Fist with his hands cupped together behind his waist. The teacher’s huge body blocked the afternoon sun, producing a halo effect around his head.

“You come here every day,” Fighting Spirit said, “but you never come in. Today, why don’t you come in for a lesson?”

Flimsy Fist’s face lit up, but he was afraid to show his excitement. “O.K. I guess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“No, not O.K.,” Fighting Spirit said.

Flimsy Fist looked confused.

“Lesson No. 1,” Fighting Spirit said, holding up his forefinger. “When presented with an opportunity, do not decide beforehand whether you can succeed. Simply say, ‘Yes, sir or yes, ma'am!’ and try your best,” Fighting Spirit said.

“Oh, O.K. … I mean, yes, sir!” Flimsy Fist said excitedly.

With that, Fighting Spirit opened the door for the boy to enter the training hall. When Flimsy Fist walked into the dojo, he was overcome with calmness. The dojo was big and bright. U.S., Japanese, and South Korean flags hung above a long line of mirrors, as did a rainbow of belts. Before the long line of mirrors, students kicked and punched with a force Flimsy Fist had never felt watching from the window outside. Their energy was electric, and Flimsy Fist wanted to feel powerful just like them.

“Ready to train?” Fighting Spirit asked.

“Yes, sir!” Flimsy Fist said in a loud, confident voice.

“Excellent!” Fighting Spirit said. “Now you’re getting it.”

Fighting Spirit took Flimsy Fist in a corner of the room, teaching him how to make a firm fist: curling the first joints of the fingers, then curling the joints a second time, then pulling the thumb over the forefinger and middle finger to lock in the fist.

Flimsy Fist immediately felt strong, like he could punch through a brick wall. But when Fighting Spirit held out a target and told Flimsy Fist to hit it with the first two knuckles of his fist, his punch was weak. Flimsy Fist hit the target hard, but he didn’t keep his fist tight and he hurt his hand.

“Lesson No. 2,” Fighting Spirit said. “Always make a firm fist before striking.”

“Yes, sir,” Flimsy Fist said, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Do not be discouraged,” Fighting Spirit said. “Focus and try again.”

Fighting Spirit presented the target pad and Flimsy Fist struck it again, this time with a more firm fist.

“Good!” Fighting Spirit said. “Now, again. Punch.”

Pow! Flimsy Fist hit the target again, this time a little harder than before.

“Great!” Fighting Spirit said. “Again.”

“But I already did it,” Flimsy Fist said. “I want to learn something else.”

“Learn to do this well first,” Fighting Spirit ordered.

“But I already did,” Flimsy Fist said, beginning to get frustrated and teary-eyed.

Flimsy Fist hung his head. Although he wanted to be strong and powerful like the other students, he didn’t realize how they became fierce. He didn’t realize that they had become strong and powerful only after spending many hours, days, weeks—even years—practicing the same blocks, kicks, and punches over and over. It had been so easy for Flimsy Fist to watch them train through the window; fantasizing about being strong was so much nicer than putting in the hard work necessary to actually be strong.

Fighting Spirit had worked with similar students before. He knew Flimsy Fist must have had a hard life so far, but he also knew that because he had lived through such a hard time that Flimsy Fist could be strong. Fighting Spirit would have to find the right words to help Flimsy Fist understand the value of practice, practice, practice.

The next day, Flimsy Fist returned to the school, ready to try again.

“Flimsy Fist, what made the Grand Canyon beautiful?” Fighting Spirit asked when the boy walked in the door.

Flimsy Fist didn’t know, and was afraid to answer incorrectly. He silently shrugged his shoulders.

Finally, Fighting Spirit said, “Water.”

Flimsy Fist nodded that he understood, but he didn’t. A second later, he asked, “But how can water make something so pretty?”

“Because water is strong,” Fighting Spirit said.

Again, Flimsy Fist didn’t understand. “How can water be strong?” the boy asked. “It slips through my hands when I wash my face at night.”

“Ah, but water is very powerful, especially when it practices,” the master said.

“How can water practice?” Flimsy Fist asked.

“How can it not?” Fighting Spirit said. “From the beginning of time, every day, water has flowed through the Grand Canyon. Every day the water runs the same path, and every day it wears a deeper and deeper path into the rock. After years of running the same path, water helps the canyon show its inner beauty and strength.

“Without practice, the Grand Canyon would just be a bump on the earth,” Fighting Spirit said. “Now, young man, which would you rather be: water or a bump on the earth?”

Flimsy Fist’s eyes widened. “Water!”

“Good!” Fighting Spirit said. “Now, hit this target.”

“Yes, sir!” the boy yelled.

From that day forward, Flimsy Fist worked hard, sweat a lot, and felt the soreness of his forearms. Slowly, his techniques began to improve. It wasn’t as hard to focus on keeping a tight fist, for he had done it so many times, his fingers knew how to curl properly on their own. His forearms were as big and strong as those of Popeye.

One day, Fighting Spirit asked Flimsy Fist to again show him his punches.

“Yes, sir!” Flimsy Fist said, hitting the target with such great confidence and force that it knocked Fighting Spirit back on his heels.

The master smiled gently. “You have learned well,” he said.

“Thank you, sir!” Flimsy Fist said proudly.

“But now something isn’t right,” the teacher said.

Flimsy Fist’s heart sank. Even though he had made great improvements, he was sure he had disappointed his instructor.

Fighting Spirit put his arm around the young man’s shoulder. “Your name does not fit your new courageous character and strong fighting spirit anymore. So from now on, you will be known as Fighting Fist.”

Fighting Fist beamed with joy. “Thank you, sir,” he said humbly.

Fighting Spirit nodded, and then motioned for Fighting Fist to join his classmates in the day’s punching drill.

Today, Fighting Fist still lives with the two loving monks, and one day at a time, he has learned to trust them and other more and more. He still studies martial arts, and today his perseverance and commitment to practice has become a deep thread that weaves in and around every aspect of his life—revealing his true beauty.

Understanding is Underrated

Aristotle: "Those that know, do. Those that understand, teach."

Chinese proverb: "I hear; I forget. I see; I remember. I do; I understand."

Lao Tzu: "To realize that you do not understand is a virtue. Not to realize that you do not understand is a defect."

Me: "About the only thing I truly understand is that I'm happiest when I try to understand rather than to BE understood."

Overcoming Obstacles Quote of the Week

"The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain."
- Dolly Parton,
Legendary country music singer and songwriter

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.

Practice, Practice, Practice Quote of the Week

"Excellence is not a singular act, but a habit. You are what you repeatedly do."
- Shaquille O'Neal,
NBA Superstar

Perseverance Quote of the Week

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”
– Thomas Edison,
Extraordinary inventor