Nothing motivates my young students more than small, half-inch-wide pieces of electrical tape. These sticky, glossy, self-esteem tools help me challenge them, and ultimately celebrate great triumphs in character development.
As part of my Taekwondo youth program, I award a variety of colored stripes (electrical tape) to students to mark progress within their belt rank. A yellow stripe is for good punches, blocks, and hand strikes; orange is for outrageously great kicks; green is for powerful and graceful forms/patterns; purple is for simple yet effective self-defense techniques; and blue is for high-endurance sparring. Red is awarded when the student shows great fighting spirit. That one isn't awarded every day. Even more rare, though, is the black stripe. This stripe indicates above and beyond the mat progress in character – and is easily one of our hardest stripes to earn.
Yesterday, I gave one of those coveted character-development “black stripes” to a 7-year-old student who brainstormed with his parents on a personal trait he wanted to change – and for one week he did it!
This young yellow belt unknowingly started a trend, for as soon as I got home, I received the following email from another parent whose two white belt sons were now eager to work on a longstanding self-discipline issue.
“They were intrigued when you mentioned in class doing a home (character) challenge,” the mom wrote. “They have both been having a hard time (trying to break a bad habit) and they would both like to try to (stop) for one week. If they succeed in this, would it be possible for them to get some recognition in class?”
How fabulous is that?
My answer was to fire off an email to students young and old, challenging everyone to commit to changing one thing – a thorn in their side, something that eats their lunch – for one week.
I’m excited, because I know they’ll all work hard to persevere through tough obstacles – and they’ll feel great about themselves afterward.
Here’s how it works:
With their parents, students choose from one of the suggested challenges below – or make up their own. (The character trait practiced is in parenthesis.)
Sample challenges:
• Listen to your parents: Reply yes/no, sir/ma’am and take immediate action without complaint (respect)
• Do your homework without complaint (responsibility)
• Eat all your vegetables (self-care)
• Take baths without complaint (good hygiene/self-care/self-respect)
• Break a habit that’s harmful/hurtful (self-care/self-respect/self-discipline)
• Brush your teeth before bedtime without complaint (good hygiene/self-care/self-respect)
• Go to bed at the assigned time without complaint (respect/self-care)
• Get dressed and ready for school ON TIME (responsibility)
• Be nice to your teachers and peers (respect)
• Be nice to your siblings (respect)
• Clean your room and keep it clean (good hygiene/self-respect)
• Do your chores without being asked/reminded (responsibility/integrity)
• Take on a new household chore and follow through (initiative/integrity/maturity)
How would your kids, nieces, or nephews do at any of the above? What challenges could YOU work on to set an example for your kids regarding the importance of building better character every day?
• Call your parents just to say hello (respect/compassion/love)
• Don’t complain about your boss/co-workers (respect)
• Break a habit that’s harmful/hurtful (focus/self-care/self-respect/self-discipline)
• Avoid judging your neighbors (love/compassion)
• Pay your bills on time (responsibility)
• Don’t spread gossip (respect/integrity)
• Be nice to your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend regardless of whether you’ve had your morning coffee (respect/patience)
• Don’t yell or honk the horn at other drivers in traffic (patience/self-control)
• Listen to others’ views without interrupting (respect)
• Don’t call [fill in name of your least-favorite lawmaker] names (respect)
• Live within your financial means (responsibility)
• Don’t yell at the kids (patience/self-control)
• Don’t hit “send” on that snippy email (respect/self-control)
I’ll admit that the piece of black electrical tape my young students work so hard for is not attractive to an adult. But how about this: For any adult who takes on a character challenge and succeeds, I’ll offer a free week of Taekwondo classes. Simply email me your challenge for approval to TaoTexas@gmail.com.
That young yellow belt probably has no idea what he and his parents started, but I’m excited to see where this goes – to see the growth of a group of students that surely will result from this challenge.
My gut tells me I should check to see when Home Depot closes today. I suspect I’m going to need a lot more black electrical tape….
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Growing Pains of a Small Dojang
Growing pains.
They hurt – but it’s a good thing when they’re the result of high-class problems.
My young students experience mental and physical growing pains on a daily basis. The biggest physical growth spurts happen over the summer, when they literally grow in their sleep overnight. They complain that their feet hurt, their bones and muscles ache, and they’re tired a lot more than usual. I tell them that it’s a normal part of growing up, and remind them not to be too grumpy with and sassy to their parents. They usually oblige.
Sometimes martial arts schools have growth spurts, too.
Looking around the dojang mat yesterday, I realized that now that fall is here, I have a brand new crew of students. We have a huge influx of white belts who are uber excited and motivated to work hard learning Taekwondo.
Problem is there are A LOT of them.
During yesterday’s youth class, the white belts packed the mat with the more experienced upper belts, all of them forming a sea of white uniforms with rainbow-like colored belts around their waists. Everyone kihapped loud, perspired, and worked hard.
The energy was very powerful.
Almost too powerful.
Bordering on frenetic.
As we bowed out, I knew I needed to meditate on finding a solution to make the student-teacher ratio more manageable. The solution option that struck me immediately, though, freaked me out.
Today, I’ve got an eerie feeling lurking – with the customary “Twilight Zone” theme music playing in the background – because I now remember a dream I had years ago, before there was an inkling of an idea to run a martial arts school:
I am in the front office of my school when a tall, lanky, balding man walks in.
It’s early fall, or late summer. It’s not too hot. There’s a slight breeze, and the sun is shining brightly through our glass doors.
I am in full uniform, but class hasn’t started yet.
“Welcome. Can I help you?” I ask.
“Yes,” the man says. “I’d like to sign my daughter up for martial arts classes.”
“Well thank you for visiting our dojang,” I reply. “We’re filled to capacity right now and have a waiting list. You’re welcome to add your daughter’s name to the list, and as soon as a spot opens up, I’ll give you a call. Feel free to watch a class while you’re here.”
Wow. That’s what yesterday was about. We’ve hit our limit. And it’s definitely a high-class problem. While I hate to turn students away, I need to attentively teach the ones already on the mat.
It’s all about practicing Basic Rules to Live By No. 10: Respect your teachers and peers (classmates) at all times.
The disrespectful thing to do with my students is to pack them in like sardines – many schools actually think this is a GOOD thing – and not care whether they learn solid, quality martial arts.
But I DO care that they learn something. I do want to have a personal relationship with my students. I don’t want there to be so many that I can’t remember their or their parents’ names.
Since I’m not out to get rich off of teaching martial arts, I’m starting to get that it’s O.K. to have boundaries and limits regarding how many students I believe I can effectively teach at one time.
And that’s my growing pain for the day.
A high-class problem indeed.
They hurt – but it’s a good thing when they’re the result of high-class problems.
My young students experience mental and physical growing pains on a daily basis. The biggest physical growth spurts happen over the summer, when they literally grow in their sleep overnight. They complain that their feet hurt, their bones and muscles ache, and they’re tired a lot more than usual. I tell them that it’s a normal part of growing up, and remind them not to be too grumpy with and sassy to their parents. They usually oblige.
Sometimes martial arts schools have growth spurts, too.
Looking around the dojang mat yesterday, I realized that now that fall is here, I have a brand new crew of students. We have a huge influx of white belts who are uber excited and motivated to work hard learning Taekwondo.
Problem is there are A LOT of them.
During yesterday’s youth class, the white belts packed the mat with the more experienced upper belts, all of them forming a sea of white uniforms with rainbow-like colored belts around their waists. Everyone kihapped loud, perspired, and worked hard.
The energy was very powerful.
Almost too powerful.
Bordering on frenetic.
As we bowed out, I knew I needed to meditate on finding a solution to make the student-teacher ratio more manageable. The solution option that struck me immediately, though, freaked me out.
Today, I’ve got an eerie feeling lurking – with the customary “Twilight Zone” theme music playing in the background – because I now remember a dream I had years ago, before there was an inkling of an idea to run a martial arts school:
I am in the front office of my school when a tall, lanky, balding man walks in.
It’s early fall, or late summer. It’s not too hot. There’s a slight breeze, and the sun is shining brightly through our glass doors.
I am in full uniform, but class hasn’t started yet.
“Welcome. Can I help you?” I ask.
“Yes,” the man says. “I’d like to sign my daughter up for martial arts classes.”
“Well thank you for visiting our dojang,” I reply. “We’re filled to capacity right now and have a waiting list. You’re welcome to add your daughter’s name to the list, and as soon as a spot opens up, I’ll give you a call. Feel free to watch a class while you’re here.”
Wow. That’s what yesterday was about. We’ve hit our limit. And it’s definitely a high-class problem. While I hate to turn students away, I need to attentively teach the ones already on the mat.
It’s all about practicing Basic Rules to Live By No. 10: Respect your teachers and peers (classmates) at all times.
The disrespectful thing to do with my students is to pack them in like sardines – many schools actually think this is a GOOD thing – and not care whether they learn solid, quality martial arts.
But I DO care that they learn something. I do want to have a personal relationship with my students. I don’t want there to be so many that I can’t remember their or their parents’ names.
Since I’m not out to get rich off of teaching martial arts, I’m starting to get that it’s O.K. to have boundaries and limits regarding how many students I believe I can effectively teach at one time.
And that’s my growing pain for the day.
A high-class problem indeed.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Tom Brokaw Would Love Tao of Texas
When I teach my students how to break pinewood boards, I often emphasize the importance of setting an intention – a visualization of their foot or hand going through the board. I remind them that setting an intention is a spiritually powerful exercise that can be applied to any of life’s situations and dilemmas, oftentimes with freakishly effective results.
Today I realize how my own lessons in setting intentions have impacted the school’s bottom line. In the grand scheme of things, if you ask legendary television newscaster Tom Brokaw, it’s a good thing. But it’s sure made for a hard business road less traveled.
Dial back time to October 2005: I’m sitting in a Denny’s restaurant with my partner at about 5 a.m. because neither of us could sleep. While we’re waiting for our breakfast, I grab a napkin and start writing a mission statement for a martial arts school that hasn’t opened yet.
“We are committed to:
• Helping children and adults of all ages and sizes become physically fit through the art of Taekwondo – and thereby become healthier people.
• Helping attention-challenged children learn to focus so that they can succeed in school – and in life.
• Giving at-risk youth powerful, character-rich role models and a place to work out aggression – and thereby build a greater sense of self-worth and respect for others.
• Giving women and children a safe place to learn self-defense – and to feel secure in their home and world.
• Giving everyone – regardless of age, race, gender, beliefs, or lifestyle – the opportunity to gain mental, physical, and spiritual strength, and as a result, make the world a better place.”
Almost five years later, we have accomplished every one of our intentions – including one that I never wrote down: “Making a difference trumps making money.”
This is the one intention that set the biggest tone for the school.
When I opened Tao of Texas Martial Arts Institute, I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew why. When my grandmaster decided to close his Taekwondo school, his students looked to me. At the time, I was just a fledgling youth instructor.
“Where are we going now, Ms. Chapaty?” they asked.
So I shrugged, said, “O.K.,” and became a chief instructor. Why? I felt obligated to help them continue their training – and I’m a people pleaser.
My students and I kicked around at a local YMCA for about 18 months before my partner found this little funky double-garage-door space in Central Austin. The building had foundation problems, flooding issues, and NO air conditioning, but it was the most affordable place we could find in a somewhat affluent, easily accessible area.
“It’s perfect (for a school),” she said. So I shrugged, said, “O.K.,” and became a school owner. Why? My students, their parents, my partner, and my friends thought I would make a great school owner. They caught me at a weak, codependent moment. So I signed for a $10,000 start-up loan, poured in all the money I had from my savings account, and gave it a shot.
You may have noticed that I haven’t yet mentioned the desire to own and run a martial arts business.
That’s because I didn’t.
Regardless, my friends and I painted walls, hung sheetrock, attached mirrors to walls, and laid down 1-inch-thick mats over spray-painted concrete floors (the building’s prior tenant was a custom sign shop).
I didn’t have a clue regarding how to run a business, and, honestly, I really didn’t want to know either – which put a lot of pressure on me to figure out how I was going to make this business thingy work without it being too much of a business thingy.
Thankfully, along the way, many offered support. Friends, mentors, and colleagues made suggestions regarding how I could make a buck.
Some of their suggestions were no-brainers. Others felt too confining. While I tried not to be too stubborn (the opposite extreme of perseverance), some suggestions felt like putting on a coat that not only didn’t fit, but itched, and made me look like someone I wasn’t.
One day, I spoke to a martial arts consultant, and I was shocked and appalled at his recommendations that I:
• Charge the market rate of $125 per month for tuition. (Was he comparing my students to "The Day's Catch" at a seafood restaurant?)
• Charge more for rank exams, and charge an increasing amount for each higher rank.
• Hold more frequent exams.
• Let some students test (and pass) even when they’re not quite proficient because they’ll catch up later.
• Charge a monthly fee for locker use.
• Begin a Black Belt Club and charge extra for membership.
• Begin a Leadership League and charge extra for membership.
• Shorten class times and reserve the last 15 minutes of the hour for students who join a Special Training group and … you got it, charge extra for membership.
Overall, his suggestions didn’t feel right in my GUT (my acronym for “God’s Unique Talk), which I rely on heavily to maintain personal integrity.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, though. He was just trying to help me make money. He had no idea – no one knew – that my unspoken, Denny’s-enacted intention put me in direct conflict with running a school that focused solely on maintaining a high profit margin.
Right or wrong, good or bad, I tossed that consultant’s advice out our double garage doors and did it my way, vowing to:
• Not incur new debt (besides the start-up loan), ensuring that the business paid for itself and lived within its means
• Not draw a salary until we had a prudent, three-month emergency reserve of all bills (we haven’t reached that mark yet)
• Continue working at my part-time day job to pay my personal bills until the school could afford me a salary (I'm still working that job)
• Not hold back certain information, lessons, or programs just because students or their parents couldn’t afford to be a part of an added-expense Black Belt Club
• Create a Junior Leaders program and make its membership contingent on whether students put in a required number of volunteer assistant teaching hours rather than paid more money in tuition per month
• Let people pay half-tuition if that’s all they could afford
• Start a scholarship program, and when the coffers occasionally dried up let those students continue to train
One day in Year 3, my partner turned to me and said the obvious: “You’re never going to make any money from this school, are you?”
“Probably not,” I replied.
“I didn’t think so,” she said, and we both nodded our heads in acceptance.
Almost five years later, the start-up loan is paid off and the school is supporting itself. I’m not much more than a penny wealthier from a financial perspective than the day we opened, but I'm FILTHY RICH with students whose personal growth and transformations are valuable beyond monetary measure, such as:
• A kid learning the value of telling the truth
• A brother learning how to be more patient – and thereby having a better relationship – with his annoying little sister
• A parent of an ADHD child breathing a sigh of relief and seeing a ray of hope because her son is finally able to focus on anything for five seconds
• A recovering alcoholic/addict healing from a childhood of violence through the art of safe and controlled sparring
• A woman who has never thought of herself as strong (much less an athlete) doing 100 jumping jacks, 30 sit-ups, and 30 push-ups – and living to tell about it
• A kid who now enjoys going to school because he’s heard often enough to “smile and nod” (what I call Verbal Aikido) when a bully says mean things to him
• A young girl who on her first day of Taekwondo class came in with bangs covering her eyes and head pointing to the floor who now confidently sits back straight, head high as first chair oboe in her high school band
I wouldn’t change the above for the world. Today I know that I’m a gifted youth martial arts instructor with a knack for working with ADD/ADHD populations and that I’ve had a tremendous impact on others.
That's priceless, and that's all I've wanted to do.
Which is why I think Tom Brokaw would like Tao of Texas. He once said: “It’s easy to make a buck. It’s a lot tougher to make a difference.”
Here, here!
Brokaw’s words are like a validating, comfortable, warm, and worn coat that feels right wearing. I haven’t been trying to make a buck. I’ve been trying to make a difference, and that’s why running Tao of Texas MAI – where I’ve valued helping people grow mentally, physically, and spiritually more than attaining monetary gain – has been such a financial struggle at times but at the end of the day also a tremendously rewarding experience.
Has the school been a success? By martial arts industry standards: Nope. In the grand spiritual scheme of things: YES. Today, though, it’s pretty obvious that I have no business running a business. I’m terrible at it. I’m miserable in it. Someone else who has less of a problem dealing with the whole “making money in martial arts” should do it – and maybe I should work for them.
I love to teach, so I’m going to let those who dream of owning martial arts schools step in while I return to doing what I love and do best anyway: impacting lives through Taekwondo.
Will I ever negotiate an internal peace treaty between money and mentoring through martial arts in general? I must, if I’m to realize mental, physical, spiritual, and financial balance. Everyone should be compensated for a job well done. That's why today I’m setting a new intention – and this time I’m not hiding it:
I will focus my energies on mentoring others through Taekwondo, and I will be generously compensated (through monetary and spiritual means) for my efforts.
Now that’s a coat that fits me perfectly.
Today I realize how my own lessons in setting intentions have impacted the school’s bottom line. In the grand scheme of things, if you ask legendary television newscaster Tom Brokaw, it’s a good thing. But it’s sure made for a hard business road less traveled.
Dial back time to October 2005: I’m sitting in a Denny’s restaurant with my partner at about 5 a.m. because neither of us could sleep. While we’re waiting for our breakfast, I grab a napkin and start writing a mission statement for a martial arts school that hasn’t opened yet.
“We are committed to:
• Helping children and adults of all ages and sizes become physically fit through the art of Taekwondo – and thereby become healthier people.
• Helping attention-challenged children learn to focus so that they can succeed in school – and in life.
• Giving at-risk youth powerful, character-rich role models and a place to work out aggression – and thereby build a greater sense of self-worth and respect for others.
• Giving women and children a safe place to learn self-defense – and to feel secure in their home and world.
• Giving everyone – regardless of age, race, gender, beliefs, or lifestyle – the opportunity to gain mental, physical, and spiritual strength, and as a result, make the world a better place.”
Almost five years later, we have accomplished every one of our intentions – including one that I never wrote down: “Making a difference trumps making money.”
This is the one intention that set the biggest tone for the school.
When I opened Tao of Texas Martial Arts Institute, I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew why. When my grandmaster decided to close his Taekwondo school, his students looked to me. At the time, I was just a fledgling youth instructor.
“Where are we going now, Ms. Chapaty?” they asked.
So I shrugged, said, “O.K.,” and became a chief instructor. Why? I felt obligated to help them continue their training – and I’m a people pleaser.
My students and I kicked around at a local YMCA for about 18 months before my partner found this little funky double-garage-door space in Central Austin. The building had foundation problems, flooding issues, and NO air conditioning, but it was the most affordable place we could find in a somewhat affluent, easily accessible area.
“It’s perfect (for a school),” she said. So I shrugged, said, “O.K.,” and became a school owner. Why? My students, their parents, my partner, and my friends thought I would make a great school owner. They caught me at a weak, codependent moment. So I signed for a $10,000 start-up loan, poured in all the money I had from my savings account, and gave it a shot.
You may have noticed that I haven’t yet mentioned the desire to own and run a martial arts business.
That’s because I didn’t.
Regardless, my friends and I painted walls, hung sheetrock, attached mirrors to walls, and laid down 1-inch-thick mats over spray-painted concrete floors (the building’s prior tenant was a custom sign shop).
I didn’t have a clue regarding how to run a business, and, honestly, I really didn’t want to know either – which put a lot of pressure on me to figure out how I was going to make this business thingy work without it being too much of a business thingy.
Thankfully, along the way, many offered support. Friends, mentors, and colleagues made suggestions regarding how I could make a buck.
Some of their suggestions were no-brainers. Others felt too confining. While I tried not to be too stubborn (the opposite extreme of perseverance), some suggestions felt like putting on a coat that not only didn’t fit, but itched, and made me look like someone I wasn’t.
One day, I spoke to a martial arts consultant, and I was shocked and appalled at his recommendations that I:
• Charge the market rate of $125 per month for tuition. (Was he comparing my students to "The Day's Catch" at a seafood restaurant?)
• Charge more for rank exams, and charge an increasing amount for each higher rank.
• Hold more frequent exams.
• Let some students test (and pass) even when they’re not quite proficient because they’ll catch up later.
• Charge a monthly fee for locker use.
• Begin a Black Belt Club and charge extra for membership.
• Begin a Leadership League and charge extra for membership.
• Shorten class times and reserve the last 15 minutes of the hour for students who join a Special Training group and … you got it, charge extra for membership.
Overall, his suggestions didn’t feel right in my GUT (my acronym for “God’s Unique Talk), which I rely on heavily to maintain personal integrity.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, though. He was just trying to help me make money. He had no idea – no one knew – that my unspoken, Denny’s-enacted intention put me in direct conflict with running a school that focused solely on maintaining a high profit margin.
Right or wrong, good or bad, I tossed that consultant’s advice out our double garage doors and did it my way, vowing to:
• Not incur new debt (besides the start-up loan), ensuring that the business paid for itself and lived within its means
• Not draw a salary until we had a prudent, three-month emergency reserve of all bills (we haven’t reached that mark yet)
• Continue working at my part-time day job to pay my personal bills until the school could afford me a salary (I'm still working that job)
• Not hold back certain information, lessons, or programs just because students or their parents couldn’t afford to be a part of an added-expense Black Belt Club
• Create a Junior Leaders program and make its membership contingent on whether students put in a required number of volunteer assistant teaching hours rather than paid more money in tuition per month
• Let people pay half-tuition if that’s all they could afford
• Start a scholarship program, and when the coffers occasionally dried up let those students continue to train
One day in Year 3, my partner turned to me and said the obvious: “You’re never going to make any money from this school, are you?”
“Probably not,” I replied.
“I didn’t think so,” she said, and we both nodded our heads in acceptance.
Almost five years later, the start-up loan is paid off and the school is supporting itself. I’m not much more than a penny wealthier from a financial perspective than the day we opened, but I'm FILTHY RICH with students whose personal growth and transformations are valuable beyond monetary measure, such as:
• A kid learning the value of telling the truth
• A brother learning how to be more patient – and thereby having a better relationship – with his annoying little sister
• A parent of an ADHD child breathing a sigh of relief and seeing a ray of hope because her son is finally able to focus on anything for five seconds
• A recovering alcoholic/addict healing from a childhood of violence through the art of safe and controlled sparring
• A woman who has never thought of herself as strong (much less an athlete) doing 100 jumping jacks, 30 sit-ups, and 30 push-ups – and living to tell about it
• A kid who now enjoys going to school because he’s heard often enough to “smile and nod” (what I call Verbal Aikido) when a bully says mean things to him
• A young girl who on her first day of Taekwondo class came in with bangs covering her eyes and head pointing to the floor who now confidently sits back straight, head high as first chair oboe in her high school band
I wouldn’t change the above for the world. Today I know that I’m a gifted youth martial arts instructor with a knack for working with ADD/ADHD populations and that I’ve had a tremendous impact on others.
That's priceless, and that's all I've wanted to do.
Which is why I think Tom Brokaw would like Tao of Texas. He once said: “It’s easy to make a buck. It’s a lot tougher to make a difference.”
Here, here!
Brokaw’s words are like a validating, comfortable, warm, and worn coat that feels right wearing. I haven’t been trying to make a buck. I’ve been trying to make a difference, and that’s why running Tao of Texas MAI – where I’ve valued helping people grow mentally, physically, and spiritually more than attaining monetary gain – has been such a financial struggle at times but at the end of the day also a tremendously rewarding experience.
Has the school been a success? By martial arts industry standards: Nope. In the grand spiritual scheme of things: YES. Today, though, it’s pretty obvious that I have no business running a business. I’m terrible at it. I’m miserable in it. Someone else who has less of a problem dealing with the whole “making money in martial arts” should do it – and maybe I should work for them.
I love to teach, so I’m going to let those who dream of owning martial arts schools step in while I return to doing what I love and do best anyway: impacting lives through Taekwondo.
Will I ever negotiate an internal peace treaty between money and mentoring through martial arts in general? I must, if I’m to realize mental, physical, spiritual, and financial balance. Everyone should be compensated for a job well done. That's why today I’m setting a new intention – and this time I’m not hiding it:
I will focus my energies on mentoring others through Taekwondo, and I will be generously compensated (through monetary and spiritual means) for my efforts.
Now that’s a coat that fits me perfectly.
Open-Air, Open Eyes
Tao of Texas Martial Arts Institute is an open-air dojang. Although we have a small air conditioner we use occasionally, it doesn’t work very well, so the majority of the time we end up throwing open the garage doors, turning on a gazillion fans, and training till our doboks are drenched.
Open-air training has become rare in most modern martial arts schools (especially in Texas), but it has been a vital element of how we build mental, physical, and spiritual strength and perseverance at Tao of Texas.
First, it helps everyone feel closer to nature. Hot and cold breezes blow in. Leaves slowly and softly drift to the ground in the fall. Tree limbs sway and swish year-round. Birds chirp. It’s all right outside our white, metal garage doors.
Second, we sweat a lot – I mean A LOT – which forces students to hydrate and take care of their bodies. They drink more water, which helps all their organs function at optimum levels. They learn nifty little statistics, such as, "When you're thirsty, you're already 40% dehydrated."
In this age of obesity in America, one might think students training in an open-air dojang in the height of summer IN TEXAS would have yet another excuse not to exercise. On the contrary. I see just the opposite. Summer training presents an odd challenge. A badge of courage and perseverance of sorts. No matter the temperature, there are those who will not buckle. No matter the weather, someone always shows up for class.
Third, when we sweat and tire, it challenges us to remain in the discomfort of the moment, to notice it – but not run away from it (through drugs, alcohol, food, etc.). I’ve learned that discomfort is often a temporary condition, and I tell my students to let it be until it isn’t anymore.
“This, too, shall pass,” I remind them, adding that when things get hard – in Taekwondo as in life – to remember that the only constant in life is change.
Open-air training has become rare in most modern martial arts schools (especially in Texas), but it has been a vital element of how we build mental, physical, and spiritual strength and perseverance at Tao of Texas.
First, it helps everyone feel closer to nature. Hot and cold breezes blow in. Leaves slowly and softly drift to the ground in the fall. Tree limbs sway and swish year-round. Birds chirp. It’s all right outside our white, metal garage doors.
Second, we sweat a lot – I mean A LOT – which forces students to hydrate and take care of their bodies. They drink more water, which helps all their organs function at optimum levels. They learn nifty little statistics, such as, "When you're thirsty, you're already 40% dehydrated."
In this age of obesity in America, one might think students training in an open-air dojang in the height of summer IN TEXAS would have yet another excuse not to exercise. On the contrary. I see just the opposite. Summer training presents an odd challenge. A badge of courage and perseverance of sorts. No matter the temperature, there are those who will not buckle. No matter the weather, someone always shows up for class.
Third, when we sweat and tire, it challenges us to remain in the discomfort of the moment, to notice it – but not run away from it (through drugs, alcohol, food, etc.). I’ve learned that discomfort is often a temporary condition, and I tell my students to let it be until it isn’t anymore.
“This, too, shall pass,” I remind them, adding that when things get hard – in Taekwondo as in life – to remember that the only constant in life is change.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Benefits of Respecting Others
My all-time favorite task as a martial arts teacher is proudly wrapping a new belt around the waist of a deserving student or adding a hard-earned stripe to the well-worn belt of someone who shows progress and fighting spirit. But where there’s a yin, there’s a yang, and that means sometimes I have to later demote those same students for a variety of character-related mistakes. The main violation for kids involves a lack of respect. Siblings are usually the targets. Anger is oftentimes the source.
One time, I bumped a student from probationary black belt all the way down to white belt for bopping his sister on the head with a bo. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do as an instructor. I was afraid that this kid – a really great student in so many ways – would not return to train. But I knew that if I didn’t help him learn a lesson in self-control now, I’d be setting a Taekwondo Tasmanian devil out onto an unsuspecting world later.
After a long talk about "Star Wars" and the dangers of going over to the "dark side" of martial arts, that boy did return. Today he is a 19-year-old second-degree black belt and sophomore at Yale University.
When students misuse their Taekwondo skills, belt demotion is oftentimes automatic, but some students benefit more from telling me (and themselves) what went wrong and what to do right the next time.
The following is a short essay one of my students wrote regarding why it might be a good idea to treat his sister with respect.
Why treating my sister better can benefit me
“If I treat my sister better, then I do not have to get into trouble with my parents. It also will make my sister want to be nicer to me. Like when I was nice to her and she let me play with her brand new toy. I feel good when I am nice to her, but I only feel bad when I am mean to her. Also, if I want her to respect me and my rules about my room and my toys, then I should respect her as well.
“Also, if I keep doing this to my sister, then I cannot study Taekwondo anymore. Taekwondo is helping me a lot with self-control, which is helping me act better to my sister. It is also helping me with my endurance, strength, and self-confidence.” – E.A., age 10
So my question of the day is this: How can treating YOUR siblings with respect benefit YOU?
One time, I bumped a student from probationary black belt all the way down to white belt for bopping his sister on the head with a bo. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do as an instructor. I was afraid that this kid – a really great student in so many ways – would not return to train. But I knew that if I didn’t help him learn a lesson in self-control now, I’d be setting a Taekwondo Tasmanian devil out onto an unsuspecting world later.
After a long talk about "Star Wars" and the dangers of going over to the "dark side" of martial arts, that boy did return. Today he is a 19-year-old second-degree black belt and sophomore at Yale University.
When students misuse their Taekwondo skills, belt demotion is oftentimes automatic, but some students benefit more from telling me (and themselves) what went wrong and what to do right the next time.
The following is a short essay one of my students wrote regarding why it might be a good idea to treat his sister with respect.
Why treating my sister better can benefit me
“If I treat my sister better, then I do not have to get into trouble with my parents. It also will make my sister want to be nicer to me. Like when I was nice to her and she let me play with her brand new toy. I feel good when I am nice to her, but I only feel bad when I am mean to her. Also, if I want her to respect me and my rules about my room and my toys, then I should respect her as well.
“Also, if I keep doing this to my sister, then I cannot study Taekwondo anymore. Taekwondo is helping me a lot with self-control, which is helping me act better to my sister. It is also helping me with my endurance, strength, and self-confidence.” – E.A., age 10
So my question of the day is this: How can treating YOUR siblings with respect benefit YOU?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Mantra Magic
The following is a mantra one of my students said to mentally prepare for one of the toughest tests yet of her Taekwondo life:
I will be nervous, but I will get on the mat.
I will sweat, but I will keep fighting.
I will get tired, but I will throw one more kick.
I will want to quit, but I will throw one more punch.
I will mess up, but I will move on.
I will be the strongest, fastest, and best fighter I can be.
To read her full blog entry, visit:
http://jem5.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-other-passions.html
Have I said yet this week that I LOVE my job?
I will be nervous, but I will get on the mat.
I will sweat, but I will keep fighting.
I will get tired, but I will throw one more kick.
I will want to quit, but I will throw one more punch.
I will mess up, but I will move on.
I will be the strongest, fastest, and best fighter I can be.
To read her full blog entry, visit:
http://jem5.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-other-passions.html
Have I said yet this week that I LOVE my job?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
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….
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….
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