I used to do that...

     I am consistently amazed at the number of proficient martial artists we have in this country, and even more amazed at the number that exist in the relatively small towns in which my wife and I operate our studios.  At least that's what I would be forced to conclude if I were to take the word of everyone who walked through our doors.  It seems that at least 50% (and believe me, this is a somewhat conservative estimate) of all prospective students (and, indeed, those I meet in the general public population as well) have someone in their family that trained in the martial arts at some point in their lives.  Let me be clear: I don't find anything wrong with that. While it definitely has its bad side, I think that in most ways the proliferation of the martial arts in the United States and throughout the world is a good thing.  What does bewilder me is that people consistently feel the need to bring up their prior martial arts training to me, and what bewilders me even more are the ways in which they do it. 

     Perhaps they feel that in bringing up their own training, they are in someway relating to me, which I really do understand at some level. In all honesty, though, the longer I train, the less I feel the need to bring it up in casual conversation.  It really only comes up when someone asks about it, or meets me through the martial arts world to begin with. (Yes, I consider this blog to a part of that world.)  All too often, however, I feel that people bring up their past training as a way to feel more like an equal in a somewhat unbalanced relationship. Invariably, when the conversation turns to martial arts, the person who is no longer actively training says something along the lines of  "Oh, I used to do that."  While the details may change from person to person in regards to martial arts style, belt attained, or reasons for leaving, the words "I used to" ring through my brain like an annoying klaxon, but what irks me even more is the need to equate their training experience with my own.  I'm sorry, but in the realm of the martial arts, 99.9% of the time, this person and I are NOT equals.  What I don't understand is the need for them to feel like we are.

     I don't think most parents would feel it is appropriate to walk into their child's classroom and tell the teacher about their own qualifications in education, or feel the need to start giving them advice on how to run their classrooms. (Although, in this day and age, not being a parent, I'm sad to say might be wrong about that). Personally, I  don't take my car to the mechanic and tell him how much experience I have fixing cars.  I don't go to the doctor's office and tell the doctor about my medical expertise.  I don't feel the need to tell my accountant the degree to which I could handle doing my taxes myself.  I could go on with examples, and perhaps I am wrong in my own perceptions of the examples above as they relate to the larger population. I really don't feel that this practice is all that common in other fields, though, so why is it so pervasive the world of the martial arts?

     Now when various people tell me how they "used to do that", I respond cordially, and let them talk about their experiences, because there is usually little harm in letting them get it out of their systems.  I don't ask questions about it, and I don't press the issue, because it almost always ends up being something along the lines of : 

"I used to do that when I was a kid"  

"I used to do that for a few months (or even years)"

"I used to do that until I got my (insert color here) belt"

Every time I hear one of these "I used to do that" lines, I want to respond how I really feel: NO- you didn't. How do I know this?  It's quite simple really, though I feel that the English language lacks the appropriate words to convey my meaning, so I 'll use quotation marks around the words that come closest to expressing my feelings on the matter:

If you truly "did" what I "do", then you would still be "doing" it.

"Do" isn't really the right word, though, (at least not the right English word) because being a martial artist isn't something I "do".  Furthermore, it will NEVER be something I "did."  A  martial artist is something I AM.  Even if I cannot continue to train physically due to injury or illness, I will not stop being a martial artist. Even if (in the most unlikely scenario imaginable to me) I decided to give up my art and close the doors to my school, I personally won't stop being a martial artist.  I just can't.  It's not in me.  I will continue to study, to read, to write, and to train to whatever degree I remain physically and mentally able to do so.  I will strive to better my mind, my body, my spirit, my technique, and my understanding of the Martial Way of Life. Martial arts just will never in any way become something I "used to do", and if you "used to" be a martial artist, then I'm sorry, but you never really were one to begin with, and you are simply not my equal in that realm.

     I'm sorry if that offends you, but it doesn't make it any less true.  I'm most likely not your equal when it comes to your profession, either, but I won't try to be, nor I will I try to share my experience in your field when I really don't have any.  I went to college to be a high school English teacher, but I never actually held a job it that capacity.  Therefore, I am NOT your equal in that field if you are a high school English teacher, or if you are a public or private school teacher of any kind at at all.  My experiences in college can in no way relate to the experiences of a teacher in a real classroom, and are therefore irrelevant in conversation.  In fact, my college degree almost never comes up, unless someone asks me about it, or when it is in some way relevant to my actual life as a martial artist and martial arts instructor.  While I may try to relate to a school teacher through my own experiences as a martial arts instructor, I most certainly do NOT try to relate to them as another school teacher would.  Therefore, I would find it much more interesting if someone tried to relate another occupation to martial arts then just telling me "I used to do that"...because, no, you didn't.

     By now perhaps you are beginning to feel that I am rather full of myself as a martial artist, but I assure you, this is not the message I am trying to convey.  It is simply a quantitative analysis.  Unless you have spent the last 30 years or so studying a specific martial art in depth, and the martial arts in general, you aren't my equal in this field.  If you have done so (as I know some of my readers have) then you are an equal, and you already know exactly what I'm talking about in this post.  Finally, if you have done more training and studying than I have, I readily accept the fact that I am not your equal, and am happy to learn from your experience, without thinking I have to elevate my own status in any way.  I know that I still have a long way to go.  In fact, Grandmaster Jae Chul Shin told us in his final volume of Traditional Tang Soo Do that:

If we consider a total course ranging from 0 to 100, 

Ko Dan Ja have an achievement rating of ~40% for 

4th Dan, 50% for 5th Dan, and so on.

So, if we accept this premise, then at 5th Dan I have achieved at a 50% level. Frankly, I think that's probably a bit on the generous side, but it still isn't even a passing grade. Why then would I stop?  In the World Tang Soo Do Association, a minimum passing score is 70%, so I'll have to continue to at least 7th Dan. Even then, I think I'll keep going, because who wants to just barely pass?  I'd like to reach 9th Dan one day.  Why not?  Our Association has set it as an attainable goal, so I see no reason why I should not attempt to attain that level of achievement.  I may not make it, but it certainly won't be a goal I "used to" have.

     All people are not equal in all ways.  The only thing that's new is the attempt to convince others we are their equals when we know in our hearts that we are not. So, if you are a martial artist, I'll be happy to converse with you about the martial arts, even if you no longer actively train.  (And believe me, I actually know martial artists who have never set foot on a training floor, but that's a different topic altogether.)  If you aren't a martial artist, please don't tell me about how you "used to be" one, unless you have the intention of becoming one again, because:

If you truly are what I am, then you always will be, 

and there is no need to qualify or quantify it to me.

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff.

On Legos (and Alchemy)

     Lego may very well be one of the greatest toy lines ever created.  Actually, Xevoz, which was the perfect synergy of construction toys and action figures, was, in may ways, much cooler.  However, since that line was short-lived, mishandled, and prematurely canceled (Curse you, Hasbro!), most of you have never heard of it.  So, we'll stick with Lego, because if you don't know what Legos are, I'm really not sure I want to know you, and you very possibly couldn't relate to me anyway,

     When I was a kid, I very much remember a time in which I started to become disenfranchised by toy lines like the Transformers (which were releasing things like Pretenders and Action Masters) and instead became obsessed with obtaining as many Lego sets as humanly possible.  My family was very giving, and over the course of my birthday, Christmas, and many other holidays, I recall that during one particular year I had acquired quite a few Legoland Space Sets. Of the sets I owned, my absolute favorites had to be the FX Star Patroller and the Cosmic Fleet Voyager:

     What young sci-fi loving geek wouldn't want these sets?  Both were very cool spaceships, and both had some very cool hidden features that can't be seen in the pictures above, including moving hatches and modular construction.  They were, to put it simply, awesome.  

     As soon as I could, I broke into those sets, and I went about following the instructions within, to the best of my ability, in order to construct the wondrous vessels depicted on the front of each box. To the uninitiated, Lego instructions look something like this:

While they are theoretically easy to follow from step to step, one would often find that if careful attention was not given to exactly which pieces were required and to the exact location in which piece was to be placed, it often became necessary to tear everything apart from several steps in order to find a simple mistake and rebuild the set correctly.  If nothing else, this process at least imbued within me the skills I would need later in life to build IKEA furniture. 

     The sets did get built, with time and perseverance, and the resulting ships really were awesome. They stayed built as designed for quite awhile to come, too.  Eventually, though... these ships would have to see battle... and battle between Lego spaceships can only lead to one thing:

Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but I did have my own imaginary Lego explosions, quickly followed by Lego crashes.  I quite fondly remember the various multicolored bricks flying to and fro, and the rather convincing Lego wreckage left behind.  Lego spaceships were toys you could break without actually breaking them.  What could be better? 

     Interestingly enough, that actually was the next question my young mind sought to answer.  What could be better?  I went back to the boxes, and noticed that the back of each depicted a number of different ships and vehicles... none of which were included in the instruction booklet, but all of which could be constructed from the pieces contained within that set:

While I did spend some time trying to replicate the vehicles contained in these images, an even better thought occurred to me.  If I had two Lego sets that resulted in one awesome ship each, what might I build if I combined ALL of the pieces from both sets?  It would no doubt be glorious.  Believe me, it was, at least to me.  I proceeded to rip into my ships, pulling them apart into their smallest component pieces.

I began anew, creating new and incredible things. Radar dishes and antennae became lasers and weapon emplacements.  Pieces intended to be cylindrical lights or loudspeakers instead became the heads for new alien species, as Lego did not make alien minifigures at the time.  Ships became giant robots.  I was soon building everything from hovercars to Escape Pods to entire cities.  Indeed, it was glorious.

     So.. this is a martial arts blog, right?  Yes, stay with me, I'm getting there.  Actually, I believe that many of you will have already seen at least some part of the implied simile.  Working trough the color belt system on the way to black belt is very much like receiving that first Lego set, the picture on the box showing a completed black belt.

At these color belt levels we are gradually given all of the pieces required to build ourselves into that black belt, and are given the instruction manual to follow, showing each piece and where it must go. Sometimes we are overly ambitious, though, and may try to build too quickly.  Only later do we discover that a piece is missing or improperly placed, and in order to build our black belt correctly, we must tear ourselves down and begin anew.  Eventually, with perseverance, we are able to finish the set.  We have built our black belt.  What could be better?

     There are some black belts who simply can't see that there is anything better. They will proudly place their "finished" product on the shelf to be displayed and admired, and will never really touch it again.  To this I merely say: "What fun is that?"  Sure, they may have built one awesome thing with the pieces they are given, but this is the exact time to answer the question: "What could be better?" What else can you build with the pieces you were given?  It is time now to look at or techniques, our forms, our self-defense applications, our sparring, and everything else we think we "know",  and it is time to take them apart to begin again.  It's time for a martial arts explosion!  Yes, the explosion is sometimes followed quickly by a martial arts crash, but as long as we are willing to pick up the pieces that are strewn to and fro, we can learn something valuable from our crashes as well.  We may find that as we pick up the pieces and begin to build that the results do not always match what our mind's eye has envisioned, but through dedication and persistence we will one day rebuild the pieces into something new and different, and it can be glorious indeed to make discoveries about something "old" that we thought we "knew."

     It is often said that black belt is only the beginning.  If so, we must of course ask and answer: the beginning of what?  It is truthfully only the beginning of many things, but in this context, I submit that it is the beginning of creation.  As humans and mortals we cannot create something from nothing, and therefore must have obtained something from which to begin.  As black belts, we are not often given new pieces with which to build, but this is because we already have been given the pieces we need. We must simply be willing to take our awesome constructions apart in order to rebuild them into something better.  Eventually, we will see that if we break apart each of our separate "sets": our forms, one-steps, basics, etc., that they do not need to be separate at all, and instead we can begin to combine them.  In doing so we come closer to the realization that we have made our martial arts skills (and hopefully ourselves) better.

     As is the way with many things, my interest in Legos waned somewhat over time.  In fact, over the years, and to my chagrin, many of my Lego sets were lost, sold, or merely misplaced.  The longer I live, though, the more I begin to see how all things relate, and that many of my interests intersect, overlap, and share the same underlying themes.

     One interest I have always had (outside of the martial arts) is watching Anime, or Japanese Animation.  I have enjoyed anime since before I really knew what it was, and can still recall being a very young child in the late 1970s, sitting on our couch and pretending to fire the Wave Motion Gun while belting out "OUR STAR BLAZERS!"  Later years would bring me wonders such as Battle of the Planets, Robotech, and Voltron.  Only much later would I learn of the Japanese source material: Space Battleship Yamato, Gatchaman, Macross, and King of Beasts Golion.

     Um, wait... weren't we just talking about martial arts?  or Lego? Trust me, this really does make sense.

     In the modern age, producers of media have realized that American adults actually appreciate anime as much as children, and we have finally had exposure to the original stories as they were intended to be told.  In some rare occasions, an anime may be completely torn apart and remade in order to tell the story the author always meant to share, and in doing so, it becomes better. Such was the case with the production of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, which may well be one of the best anime to reach the mass market.

    Fullmetal Alchemist accepts as its main premise the idea that alchemy is real; alchemy in this case being the conversion of one form of energy or matter to a different form of energy or matter, along with  the ability to control said matter or energy.  This may manifest itself through such things as the creation of a tool or weapon from mere pieces of earth, or may involve the repair of broken iems, or even the healing of injuries.  Despite all this power, alchemists in this world must follow The Law of Equivalent Exchange, which states:

In order to obtain, something of equal value must be lost. 

This law can be circumvented only through the use of The Philosopher's Stone, which can only be obtained through great and terrible sacrifice.  How wonderful it is then, that as martial artists, we need not lose in order to obtain something new. While it is true that we cannot create something from nothing, we need not lose our previous knowledge or techniques in order to create something new from them.  We can, in essence, have our spaceships, hovercars, aliens, robots, lasers, cities, and anything else we can imagine all at once.  We have our Philosopher's Stone, without too much great and terrible sacrifice, and it is glorious.

      Learning to make use of this is a process, as is all of our learning, and is eloquently described in the world of Fullmetal Alchemist through the terms Deconstruction and Reconstruction.  (If you can't see the video below, please clear your browser history/cache, or click here.)  

As black belts and instructors, this then is what we do.  We examine our existing skills and knowledge, we deconstruct them with the intent of reconstructing them into something new, something more useful, and something better, and, hopefully, we begin to see the connections in all we do.  One is all, all is one.

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff.

What's in a Test? Part 2: Respect is a Two-Way Street

One of the chief motivators for young people to perform tasks and services assigned to them by their elders is the desire to earn the respect of their elders.  It follows then, that one of the chief fears young people have today is that their successes will not be accompanied by respect from the adult population.  All too often, this fear is justified in today’s society.  The successes of our youth are often devalued or ignored.  Formal occasions in which our youth might be granted the respect they have earned through repeated success have become mere exercises in custom, with little or no real value placed upon them, and no real respect granted.  There are numerous reasons for this shift, including a decline in overall parental involvement, the prolonged stage of adolescence we have previously discussed, and the rising belief that providing our youth with tangible items and rewards somehow makes up for providing them with guidance and respect.¹  One of the biggest reasons, however, is that the adults of today’s society are so preoccupied with gaining respect from their own successes that they are ignoring the accomplishments of the next generation. This stems from the fact that these adults were never formally initiated into the world of adulthood themselves.  As Don Pinnock of Conflict Resolution Center International puts it:

Western cultures have largely lost what most pre-industrialized cultures knew: adulthood does not gain full expression by itself-- initiation and ritual guidance are required.²

We must find better ways of acknowledging the successes of our youth, and granting them the respect that these successes have earned.  We must find better ways to bring young people into adulthood, and this starts with recognizing successes for what they are.

            In the past, ancient cultures recognized the successes of their youth through established rituals.  These rituals played a combination of roles.  They indicated in front of all who had succeeded at their tests. They honored those who had succeeded by proclaiming them adults and ready to take their place in society. Perhaps most importantly, they granted those who had succeeded the respect that went with becoming a contributing member of society.  With the respect granted by society came a level of self-respect that could be gained only through earning the respect of others.  It may be argued that these rituals still exist today, in the form of graduations, bar mitzvahs, confirmations, and the like.  While we will examine each of these rituals in depth later, it is safe to say that most experts agree that each of these rituals has become a ‘watered down’ exercise, and that none of them carry the meaning they once held. Almost before these rituals end, we see a return to ‘life as usual’, in which no real change has taken place.  The child is still a child, or at most an adolescent, even after the ritual ends.

            In the past, those who succeeded at their tests were first given the respect of becoming an adult and then asked to fill a role in society.  Today we have it exactly backwards.  Uninitiated adolescents are asked to find their role in society, and only after doing so are they considered adults.  Filling a role in society once meant contributing to the overall health of the society.  As people in these societies began to contribute and take responsibility for the well being of others, they earned the respect of those others.  A sense of Social Responsibility was fostered and maintained with each succeeding generation’s initiation into adulthood. As formal initiation into adulthood began to fade, so too faded the levels of respect granted to each successive generation.  A never-ending search for that respect began to replace the search for ways in which to contribute. A focus on self-accomplishments supplanted the focus on Social Responsibility.  This becomes a vicious cycle, as each succeeding generation desires respect to a greater degree, but receives it less from elders who are still searching for respect themselves. We must find a way to break this cycle. A good test, then, must provide a vehicle for formal recognition of success. A complete test will include some meaningful ritual in which the test taker who succeeds is not only formally recognized, but is granted a new level of respect, and in turn is initiated into a new circle in which a new level of status is confirmed.

Test Results Reflect Social Status

            In addition to respect, social status is highly sought after, not only by the young, but by adults as well.   It is often the case in society that social status is directly linked with factors such as popularity among peers, looks, physical prowess, or the amount of money one makes, but this was not always as prevalent as it is today.  At one time, social status was more closely linked to the results of the tests administered by the society.  Mental, physical, and spiritual roles in societies were clearly defined, and those that excelled in any of these three areas reached levels of social status accordingly.  Spiritual leaders, teachers, craftsmen, and warriors all had a role to play, and all had a corresponding level of social status.  The results of one’s tests within any of these groups were tied to an individual’s place, or status, within that group. Within the caste of craftsmen, proficiency with the tools of the trade, ability to work across different media, and understanding of aesthetics were all indicators of the status of individual craftsmen. Within the warrior caste, proficiency with different weapons, battle prowess, and the ability to lead were all indicators of the rank a warrior would achieve, and that rank was an indicator of status.  Teachers and philosophers were tested through their thoughts and writings, and through the advancement of their students.  All of these were reflections of the status accorded to these teachers.

Today we have lost something of this link.  While it is true that on the average, those who succeed in school or in their places of employment will earn higher salaries and achieve more respected levels of status in society than those who do not, there is still a decidedly skewed view of social status in our society.  In their formative years, those who achieve academic successes and excellence are often belittled and made the object of taunts, or worse, physical bullying.  Those who achieve spiritual successes are often ignored, while those who reach new levels of depravity and spiritual corruption gain accolades and power.  Physical prowess and beauty is seemingly valued above all else.  Those who look good reach higher levels of status than those who do good. If we are to survive as a healthy society, this too must change. Our tests must once again be given some value in the larger society. The results of a good test should be linked directly to status within the group of test takers. The results of a complete test will be linked to status not only within the small group of test takers, but within the larger society as well.  We must become more aware of how and on whom we bestow social status.  Those who achieve status in a society become the role models of future generations, and without good models, we can never truly have good tests.

 

Testers Must Serve as Models

            It has been said that a paramount concern of today’s young people is to gain respect from their elders.  Respect however, is a two way street.  A young person will not crave or desire the respect of an adult whom he or she does not respect in return.  Adults must earn the respect of children and adolescents before they can hope that these children and adolescents will want their respect in return.  One of the surest ways for an adult to gain respect from the younger generation is by serving as a model for appropriate action and behavior.  Models must first show the way, and there is only one way to do this.  The testers must be willing to go through, or must have already been through, any test they are giving.  They must have ‘been there,’ and they must have ‘done that.’  Only then can they point out where mistakes are made and how to get back on track. According to Greta Nagel:

The power of modeling has been demonstrated over and over again in various educational settings.

The parent or classroom teacher who is intent upon showing rather than just telling will enhance academic recall and deepen understandings of real life.³

When serving as models, we must be able to show that we have done what we are asking of our youth, and that if called upon to do so, we can still do it today.  This level of modeling serves several important purposes.  First, it builds a foundation of trust between the model and the student, by showing that models will not ask anything more of the students than they are willing to do themselves.  This is an extremely powerful way to both earn respect and build up confidence.  Second, this level of modeling indicates the need for ongoing learning.  By showing that as models, we are willing to continue and maintain our own learning, we stress how important it is to our students, not only now, but later in life as well. Finally, this level of modeling illustrates our respect for and confidence in the next generation.  We are effectively telling them we believe in them, and we believe they are capable of doing the same things we can do.

            Any models that demand more of their students or children than they have done in the past or are willing to do today are doing a disservice to those children.  Children are not stupid, and contrary to what some may believe, they are not easily duped.  They will know whether their teachers and parents have done what is being asked of them. When models have not shared these experiences, children will begin to lose respect for them due to their hypocrisy.  A good test, then, will not include any question or action that the tester has not answered or undertaken in the past.  The complete test, however, will not include any question or action that the tester is not willing to answer or undertake now. Those who serve as testers must also serve as models, and they must understand that their own abilities and proficiencies are being constantly questioned and monitored by those who are taking the tests.  The results of those tests then, will tell us not only about the abilities of students, but will also illustrate something about the abilities and proficiencies of the teachers.

Tests are one of the most powerful indicators we have of the abilities and competencies of our youth.  Good and complete tests are also one of the most powerful tools we have to judge the competency and proficiencies of our teachers.  As we reflect on the status of our society as a whole, we must look not only to the problems of young people, but also to the status of their guides along the path to adulthood.  We must ask whether the models to which we are exposing our youth are prepared for the task that faces them.  Responsible adult members of society must look at the content and results of administered tests to determine whether they demonstrate an appropriate level of teacher proficiency.

            Teachers may be proficient in any number of educational areas, but if they cannot produce consistent results over time, and do not make valid decisions based on test results, they will never be truly proficient teachers.  The results of tests will tell us as much about the abilities of our teachers as they do about the abilities of our students, if only we know where to look.  Complete tests will incorporate the ideas of reliability and validity in their design.  In so doing, they will help us to form an accurate picture of the status of various subsets of our society, including our teachers. Only once we have this picture can we decide where the deficiencies are located and what must be changed in the future.

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff.

1.      Kohn, Punished By Rewards, pp.229-239.

2.      Pinnock, “Gangs, Guns, and Rites of Passage,” p. 7.

3.      Nagel, The Tao of Teaching, p. 69.

 

They Aren't Called Attitude Suggestions: Regarding Accountability

          It seems to me now that it was only a short time ago that we began to implement the learning and practice of the World Tang Soo Do Association's 14 Attitude Requirements into our curriculum at Keystone Martial Arts.  In looking back though, I realize that we have arrived at Requirements number 5 and 6 at our two respective locations, and that we have been working on this project for nearly half the year.  At the outset, my wife and myself had three basic goals in mind when implementing this part of our curriculum:

1. Our students would learn the 14 Attitude Requirements

2. Our students would learn what the 14 Attitude Requirements actually mean. 

3. Our students would be held accountable for putting the 14 Attitude Requirements into practice.

          This seemed relatively simple in concept, and in truth, I have to say that for the most part, it has been going exactly as planned. We made our students repeat the Requirements until they learned what each one says. We defined the key words included in each Requirement and put these definitions together so that the students understood what each one means. We gave homework assignments keyed specifically toward the meaning of each Requirement that would hold students accountable for putting that meaning into practice. What I did not expect (though in truth I am now not sure why) is that I would learn as much about being an instructor as our students were learning about being students and martial artists.  

          Some lessons learned are actually fairly obvious. The first of these is that some students (and in some cases I will honestly say some parents) do not want to be held accountable.  Some merely wish to show up, kick and punch (easy stuff), and be awarded a new belt.  When confronted with the necessity to be held accountable for their actions, these students tend to wither.  They simply ignore the homework and do not turn it in.  They do not raise their hands when asked questions regarding personal development and personal accountability. In some cases they become argumentative and confrontational when told that they are not moving forward in rank.  They begin to compare themselves (non-obejectively) to other students, and often arrive at incorrect conclusions regarding their own progress or status in the class.  In the end, many decide to quit. This is not to say that every student who leaves does so because they refuse to be held accountable, or even that this is the main reason why students leave.  The sad truth, though, is that in at least half of the cases in which accountability is the cause, the students who quit needed to go. 

          Every instructor with whom I have ever had a serious conversation regarding student status, enrollment, and retention knows this truth, but we are all too often afraid to confront it.  We choose to believe instead that we can "save" every student who is lagging behind, when this simply isn't the case.  Some students will choose to be left behind, and some, when given too much attention, will actively lower the standards and performance of the entire class. If students choose not to be accountable for their actions, and choose to wither rather than grow, instructors cannot afford to focus all of their time on these students, allowing  this attitude to contaminate the class. We must instead nurture those students who do choose to grow, while allowing others to make a choice: Choose to grow, or choose to leave.  The next lesson learned, then, is that many students will choose to grow when held accountable, and the best students will thrive.

           I have found that in any group, be it martial artists or not, when a question or problem is posed, the majority of the group will stand back and wait.  However, there will always be at least one person in the group who is willing to raise his or her hand.  There is always one person willing to take a risk and step up.  Historically, I have not been that person.  However, I have decided, on more than one occasion, to make that choice, and to be the person who is willing to be heard, and who is willing to "stick my neck out." (If I hadn't, you would never be reading this post.)  I have found that, in almost all cases, the results are positive.  We must actively encourage this in our students, and show them that this is the way forward.  Holding them accountable for their actions is a sure way to make this happen, or to make it fail miserably.  As much as I actually believe a good instructor uses both positive AND negative reinforcement effectively,  I do believe that we must link accountability to positive outcomes, rather than focus only on the negative.  Let us congratulate, praise, and yes, even reward, students who demonstrate accountability, rather than only point out what they are NOT doing.  After all, our Attitude Requirements may say "Do not be overly ambitious", but they also remind us to "Frequently inspect your own achievements".  They don't tell us to frequently inspect our failures, and perhaps there is some wisdom in that, for only by helping our accountable students realize that they ARE getting somewhere can we hope to see them take the steps they need to move forward.

          In the end, it is my goal to see the majority, rather than the minority, of my students become willing to be held accountable, whether the results of doing so are perceived as "good" or "bad".  In fact, it is my goal to change that perception, and help them realize that accountability is almost always "good" in the end, even when that end is not instant and immediately known or understood. It is my hope that I will see more students raise their hands, see more students hold themselves and their classmates accountable for appropriate actions and behaviors, and, in the end, see the majority of the class thrive.  While there is no room in the dojang for anyone who will not be held accountable, there is more than enough room for everyone who will.

       This then is the final lesson I have learned.  There really is no room in the dojang for anyone who will not be held accountable, and that must include me.  If I want my students and my dojang to grow rather than wither, then I must grow as well, and I must choose not to wither.  Recently, I have been plagued by a series of personal injuries, but I must ask myself whether I have done everything I can to work through them, or if I have allowed them to stop me from doing what I must.  Equally, I must ask whether what I have been doing is smart, and if  my own methods of training and teaching have helped move me forward, or whether they have exacerbated my injuries and delayed my healing and growth.   I must be personally accountable, and I must choose to grow.  I must be accountable to others as well.   As Grandmaster Shin once said, 

When examining your abilities as an instructor, 

examine your young student's  manners, 

attitudes, school reports and health conditions. 

Their improvements should mirror your own.

I must realize that if I ask a student to do a thing, then I must be willing and able to do that thing myself, and if I cannot, then there had better be a darn good reason why.  If I can't find that reason (not excuse), then it probably doesn't exist, and I had better get cracking on being able to do what I demand of others.  After all, they aren't called suggestions...

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff.

They Aren't Called Attitude Suggestions (Part 1 of ?)

          For the past ten plus years, I have had the honor and privilege of running a martial arts school alongside my wife, who has always put nothing less than the utmost effort into making sure that our school, our instructors, and our students strive for improvement, regardless of how long that improvement might take.  Recently, she has initiated a plan that will take over a year to reach its ultimate fruition, but one that is nonetheless both necessary and overdue.  Many of our younger students will not, at present, be able to understand the full scope of this plan, nor will they immediately comprehend its benefits.  To them, the final results will not be realized for what they perceive as "a long time."  

          Before I discuss the plan itself, I remind you that I am, at my core, little more than a geek, and as such, my view is always skewed toward geek culture when making connections to the world beyond the martial arts, if such a world actually exists for those of us who choose to walk the path of the martial arts instructor.  That said, the best way I can relate this plan to others may be through referencing a work many still believe to be the greatest work of  Fantasy Literature ever produced: J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of The Rings.  In particular, I would like to make note of one of Tolkien's most interesting characters.  No, I'm not referring to any of the Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves, Goblins, or Wizards.  The character in question is the Ent, Treebeard.  I realize that at this point many readers will have no idea what an Ent is, or who Treebeard is, but trust me, even if you have never read the novels or seen the films, Treebeard is cool.

Trust me: Treebeard is cool.

          In The Two Towers, Treebeard is encountered by the hobbits Merry and Pippin.  In the film version, he tells them (eventually) after taking several hours to say "Good Morning" to the other Ents that, "it takes a long time to say anything in Old Entish, and we never say anything unless it is worth taking a long time to say."  Interestingly enough, the novel actually casts a slightly different light on this speech. In the novel, Treebeard says, "It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time saying anything in it, because we do not say anything IN IT, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, AND TO LISTEN TO." (Emphasis added)

          Wait, wasn't I supposed to be talking about the martial arts, and my wife's plan?  I am, of course- weren't you paying attention?  If we replace a few of the verbs, and the language of Old Entish with the words "martial arts", we begin to see the point, that being:

We don't say or do anything in the martial arts unless it is worth 

taking a long time to say or do, and to pay attention to.   

I do realize that I ended the above point with a preposition, but so did Tolkien, so you'll just have to forgive me.  Now, go back and read it again, and take your time.  It wasn't a suggestion; I actually want you to do it.  Really.  Why are you still reading this part?  I said go back and read it again. Done? Okay, then I suppose we can proceed with the plan.

         The plan, simply put, is to have our classes, and in particular our youth advanced classes, learn, understand, and put into practice each of the 14 Attitude Requirements of Tang Soo Do.  Why then should this take such "a long time?"  The answer is because the plan requires us to spend at least one month working on each one of the 14 requirements. Our students must not only learn the words, but must also make a solid attempt each month to understand what those words actually mean, and must show the instructors a genuine attempt to put them into practice.  Oh, did I forget to mention?  This is also cumulative.  For example, by Month 3, students must still be able to recite and explain Attitude Requirements One and Two.  By Month 14, our goal is that each student who has made an effort will be able to recite all 14 Attitude Requirements, explain to the instructors' satisfaction what each means, and give concrete examples of what they have done to actively fulfill each requirement, all of which can be found listed here.  Does this all sound like a bit too much to ask of a child?  I'll be painfully blunt: If you really think so, your child doesn't belong in my class.
          They aren't called the 14 Attitude Suggestions.  They are requirements.  If you don't meet the minimum requirements, you don't move forward.  It's really that simple, but what the heck?  Let's go ahead and make it complicated anyway.  What, exactly, is a requirement?  Dictionary.com defines the word requirement  as:

a thing demanded or obligatory

and also as:

  

a need or necessity

If we accept these 14 Attitude Requirements at face value, we begin to understand that:

1. We must demand that our students learn, understand, and fulfill each requirement.

2. We must convince our students that they are obligated to do so.

3. We must help our students identify the specific need associated with and fulfilled by each requirement.

 

Notice that I used the word must in each of the above statements.  Remember: they're not suggestions.  Not only must we do all of the above, but we must also insist on doing the same for ourselves.  Children understand hypocrisy, and they hate it.  Demand no more of them than you demand of yourself.

          When I am able to put Part 2 of this post series into coherent words, I will begin to discuss the Attitude Requirements themselves.  Let's look at Attitude Requirement Number One just to see how big the plan really is:

Purpose of training should be enhancement of mental and physical betterment. 

Throw that one at your class of youth students, pre-teens, teenagers, or even adults, and watch their eyes bug out of their heads. Then try to explain it, and proceed to scratch your own head.  Each word in this requirement is carefully chosen and carefully placed, though, and it all makes sense.  At the risk of making yet another somewhat obscure reference, I'll leave you with a quote from a somewhat underrated film starring Danny DeVito: Renaissance Man:

Jamaal: Are you gonna come translate this for us?

Bill: Why? It's in English.

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff.

 

What's In a Test? Part 1: Failure

          Some time ago now, I found myself for the first time having to write an extended thesis in order to fulfill my requirements for advancement to 4th Dan. While this blog isn't the place to share that particular document in its entirety, I do think it is appropriate for me to share pieces of it here.  The basic topic of the the thesis was testing, and here I would like to share my thoughts on what too often seems to be a taboo word and a taboo subject in the realms of martial arts tests: Failure.

Fear of Failure

            The possibility of failure must be present in any test, or it cannot truly be called a test.  Beyond the possibility of failure, however, a good test includes the fear of failure as well.  Fear in and of itself is not a bad thing.  It can, in fact, be a powerful motivator towards positive change.  We become stronger through facing our fears, not by ignoring or attempting to remove them.  The trend today, however, seems to be towards removing any perceived unpleasantness from our young people’s experiences. Columnist Tucker Carlson writes:

Not all of life’s experiences are positive.  Many are downright unpleasant, even painful, and always have been.  What’s new is the attempt to prohibit those experiences.¹

In so doing, we are doing our children harm.  One of the established needs for testing to fill is the need to confront and understand our weaknesses.  If we do not confront our fears, and in particular the fear of failure, we can never truly face or come to terms with these weaknesses.  In short, fear is a necessary human motivator, and the fear of failure is a necessary component of a good test.

            The fear of failure has been a trait common to all people throughout history.  It stems from the life and death experiences of our distant ancestors, the so called ‘dangers of the hunt’, in which failing meant serious injury or even death.²  Later, as Rites of Passage became more formalized and controlled, failure to succeed in meeting the objective of the rite meant denial of acceptance into the adult community.  With failure came consequences, and it was these consequences of which people were fearful.  Today there is a trend towards lessening or complete removal of consequences.  At one time, failure at tests in schools meant a dire combination of consequences for the child.  At school, the failure would, at the least, result in a loss of points toward an overall score, lowering the student’s chance of passing a subject overall.  At home, parental disapproval was virtually guaranteed.  These and other consequences worked together to ensure that the student would not want to repeat the process.  Today, however, the consequences are often removed or lessened.  Parents more and more often confront teachers over failing grades, rather than support them. Schools themselves allow students to take tests as many times as they need to in order to pass, where the end result is no consequence for the initial failure, and in fact a reward of a passing grade in the end.  With waning support from the community and families, schools are beginning to find out that the consequences they do try to implement have little effect on the students.  The fear of consequences is not reinforced outside of the schools, and the fear of failure is beginning to disappear. Attempts to combat this trend are not working as planned.

            We have discussed the fact that with failure must come consequences.  Removal of these consequences is a problem.  It is, however, only half of the problem.  Attempts to recreate some sense of a fear of failure have been centered solely on consequences, making them consistently harsher. So-called ‘zero tolerance’ policies are being put in place in schools and places of employment throughout society, in which failure is automatically coupled with harsh consequences, and repeated failure is accompanied with immediate removal. In these situations, failure is the end of the road. Consequences must be in place, true, but they must serve as motivators towards positive change.  This cannot happen if the consequences of failure are not coupled with opportunity. Failure must not be viewed as the end of the road, but the beginning.  We often will learn more from our failures than from our successes, but only if the opportunity for future success exists.

People who fail to succeed at a test, life experience, or other situation, must be actively encouraged to face, understand, and accept the consequences of their failure, rather than simply be left to those consequences without further assistance.  In this way, and only in this way, can we fully prepare them to face the test again, hopefully with a different result. Testing a second time without first facing the initial consequences accomplishes little or nothing in the long run.  We do not encourage success by removing the consequences of failure, nor do we encourage success by forcing people to deal with those consequences unaided.  Lao Tzu tells us: “In pursuing their affairs, people often fail when they are close to success.”³  This occurs when people are left to face the consequences of failure with no help and do not recognize the chance to correct the initial mistakes they made.  Aikido instructor and author Kensho Furuya states:

We do not fail because we make mistakes, we fail because we do not make mistakes correctly.

The common person turns his mistake into a bigger mistake.  The wise man turns his mistake into an advantage.⁴

We must encourage students to accept the consequences of their failure, but never to accept the failure itself.  We must help them to see that failure is not the end of the road, but merely a step along the longer road to success.

            A good test is one that has consequences for failure.  A complete test, however, includes a mechanism for the test-taker to come to acceptance of the consequences of failure and confront the test again. We must recreate a sense of danger associated with failure.  Without that sense, without that fear, there is ultimately nothing learned from failure.  It becomes an acceptable result.  This cannot be allowed.  We must push students beyond their failures.  By forcing them to confront the consequences of their failures, we force them to accept the fear of a second failure, but also to now work through that fear to a point where failure is no longer an acceptable outcome.  We must force today’s students to confront their fear of failure.  

          In some instances, the fear of failure has been too far removed from the martial arts tests of today.  This happens when students see everyone pass every test and assume that passing the test is automatic.  The basic concept is that no one who is not ready to be tested should be allowed to test, and therefore everyone passes.  There is nothing wrong with this idea as a concept, but many time ideal concepts are difficult to translate into the "real world",  and when instructors do not warn students and parents that the possibility of failure is very real, or when they allow unprepared students to ‘slide by,’ problems begin to appear.  Martial arts instructors today have been accused of ‘giving away’ and even ‘selling’ belts.  These phrases imply that the belts given to students were never actually earned through passing a challenging test.  We must strive never to allow ourselves to do this, or we remove a critical component of a complete test.

          The martial arts test must remain a test with clear and tangible consequences for failure. Rather than serving as a method of punishment, these consequences exist in order to drive students towards positive changes.  Failure in a martial arts test will result from a lack of mental, physical, or spiritual preparation and development.  Any one of these can cause the failure, but all failures of the martial arts test result in one major consequence: no promotion to the next level.  This consequence has a tangible component in that the student who fails the test does not receive a new belt, stripe, or certification, but perhaps it is the more intangible results that really make the difference.  As martial artists advance in rank, new levels of authority, status, privilege, and responsibility are (or at least should be) conferred.  The student who fails his or her test will find that his or her own levels in each of these areas remain the same.  Nothing is taken away from the student, but nothing is gained either.  It is the lack of advancement in these intangible areas that students should fear most, and this then becomes the driving force for positive development.  Instructors will fuel this motivation by helping students learn from their failures, thereby teaching the next generation to confront these failures and use them as motivation rather than to simply accept them.  Students learn to have a healthy amount of fear of failure, but are constantly encouraged to confront and overcome that fear.  Only once they have done so can it be said that they have truly earned the status that comes with advancement in rank.

Kick. Punch.  Easy Stuff.

1.      Carlson, Tucker. (2002). “Go Ahead, Hurt My Feelings,” Reader’s Digest, August, p. 46.

2.      ‘Dangers of the Hunt’ concept taken from Pinnock, Don. (1996). “Gangs Guns, and Rites of Passage,” Conflict Resolution Notes, Fall p. 8.

3.      Lao Tzu, trans. by Victor H. Mair. (1990). Tao Te Ching New York: Bantam Book), p. 35.

4.      Furuya, Kensho. (1996). Kodo: Ancient Ways Santa Clarita, CA: Ohara Publications, Inc., p. 139, and  p. 144.

You Keep Wanting That Belt. I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means.

          The movie The Princess Bride may be one of the few great comedic masterpieces ever put on film.  It is not only extremely enjoyable, but also extraordinarily well written, directed, and acted, and if nothing else, is eminently quotable. For the uninitiated: Throughout the beginning portion of the film, after the character Vizzini abducts Princess Buttercup and finds that he is being pursued, he continually exclaims that this is "Inconceivable!", despite all evidence to the contrary. After one "Inconceivable!" too many, Inigo Montoya astutely responds, "You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means."

          As a martial arts instructor, I find myself feeling much the same way when it comes to how students seem to feel about achieving new rank.  It appears that somewhere along the line, the goals for many students have shifted away from acquiring knowledge and skill towards merely acquiring rank.  To these students, the belt has become a symbol of only accomplishment, status, and achievement.  It has become a measuring tool to say, "Look at me, and look at what I've done! I've worked hard, and I deserve your admiration!"  Now, I'm not here to deny that it is these things, to a certain degree, but as an instructor, that's really NOT what your belt means to me.  The belt is not a destination, and making it one simply makes it that much easier to end a journey that isn't supposed to end. (See There Is No Karate Season)  Reaching any new rank is not a destination, it is merely another step; another rung on the ladder.  What is it, then, that your belt means to me?  It is not about what you have learned.  It is instead about what you are ready to learn next.  It is not about where you have been, it is about where you are going.  The new belt, quite simply, means that you are ready for more.

          It is this attitude that should be reflected in any desire for advancement, and in any efforts expended during a test for new rank.  I do not want to see a simple regurgitation of required material.  I want to see a true desire to advance, to move forward, and to be ready for the next challenge.  Frankly, it amazes me when the attitude presented is anything less.  All too often, when students realize that achieving a new belt rank doesn't make anything easier, I see the last thing I would expect on their faces: confusion.  I'm not sure why this is such a secret, though.  It seems as if these students, somewhat like Vizzini, find it to be "Inconceivable" that their new belts did not come fully equipped with magical abilities to make training simpler and easier, or at very least seem shocked that they don't now possess all the answers and abilities they will ever need.  Life doesn't work this way, and neither do the martial arts.  Prove proficiency with one thing, or at one job, and the reward, inevitably, is simply the opportunity to prove you can do more, and do it better.  This then, is also your reward upon receiving new rank.  

          Prove you can learn more.  Prove you can do that which you have already learned better.  Prove your belt means what you think it means.  Anything else should be inconceivable.

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff.