It would probably be a safe bet to say that the lesson started in the training hall. My Uncle Bill (it was over a decade before I knew that he wasn’t a blood relation, he’s still my uncle though) was teaching my brothers and I about the old Okinawan karate masters. He’d read to us from this ancient book, explaining to us about the parts that they didn’t go into detail on. A lot of it was basic Buddhism, but it was still great to hear about it from him. I thought I had been paying attention to it all; so when Uncle Frank (Kovacks-sensei) told us break was over and Uncle Bill asked if I understood the lesson I answered with a very non-committal, “Yeah.”
Hmmmm, I should probably have answered, “No.”
The reason he had selected the subject that he did, was because there was this EXTREMELY noxious teen ager who was constantly giving my brothers and I a hard time. Derisive comments, racial epithets when he thought no one could hear him and no opportunity to “accidentally” lose control, with one of us, passed up. All this because Kovacks-sensei wouldn’t permit him to advance, and the youngest of my brothers (number four son) outranked him by two belt levels. He refused to listen when Torack-sensei tried to explain to him that his own attitude was causing him to remain at that belt level (yes, there was a time in the American martial arts when your attitude was more important than your cash flow).
This particular day it was especially bad, Uncle Bill, Uncle Frank and Uncle Harvey (Torack-sensei) all could see that my temper was getting short. He had managed to cuff one of my brothers (number two son) while we were lined up for makiwara practice and it was an especially cheap shot. Even though he was caught and had to do push ups he was still grinning. I was doing a slow boil (yes, I am known to have a bit of a temper) and they all knew that if he pushed much more that something was going to happen.
Well, it happened. He cheap shotted me, with a front kick, while we practiced self defense techniques. I got up, straightened my gi and went to Kovacks-sensei, everyone watched as I asked for an “honor” match. This was his way of allowing two deshi (student/apprentices) to settle their differences, preferably with no blood shed. He waited for a moment before asking what rules. I had to choose from one of three levels, beginner, tournament (it was a LOT different in those days, you had to know how to REALLY fight and “take a bump”) or street; as the higher ranked deshi it was my choice. Kovacks-sensei could over ride my choice, if he thought it inappropriate, but he generally didn’t interfere as long as the lower belt agreed to it. I chose street rules, which basically didn’t eliminate a lot except bone breaks and strikes that could be fatal if followed through. He looked at the punk and asked if he agreed, the overgrown twerp smiled happily and said, “Sure, it’s his loss.” Kovacks-sensei looked at me for a moment, then said, “K____, don’t hurt him bad, he doesn’t know any better.” I didn’t say anything, but Uncle Bill later told me that he was scared for the kid when he saw the look in my eyes.
The fight went pretty much as anyone who had fought me before expected it to; he tried to muscle me and I went low, staying out of his reach and waiting for a chance. I hammered on his thighs and shins whenever he got close. Eventually he could hardly stand, but he kept trying, to this day I don’t think that he believed that there was any way he could lose the fight. Ax kicks, roundhouse kicks and side kicks all went in volley after volley, straight to his legs. When I saw him teetering, I went in for the finish, a reverse punch to the groin, from a low horse stance, which put him on the floor. While he writhed in pain I walked up to him; stood there watching him for a moment. Then everyone cold hear this low, growling kiai (spirit shout) building.
As it came up, so did my foot; at the same time that the kiai erupted from my throat my foot came down in a dragon stomp toward his head. His eyes grew larger with fear as he realized what was about to happen. Very nearly at the same time I heard Uncle Bill shouting, “Iyai! Yame!” Japanese terms which I knew all too well, “No, Stop,” and I did stop, barely an inch from his face. I stood there, shaking from the effort of stopping a full power strike before it impacted.
Kovacks-sensei directed me to sit at the other end of the mat before he knelt down beside the terrified boy. “Do you see why he’s ranked higher than you? Did you see the skill? Do you understand the control that it took for him to stop when Bill told him to?” He turned to Uncle Bill, “Get your herbs, fix his legs for him.” He then turned to me, “We need to talk, in my office.”
I stood there, in front of his desk (only the first of many desks, I can assure you) half afraid that I was going to hear the words I’d come to dread, “You can’t come back again.” He sat there looking at me for a long time before speaking, “What you did to his legs isn’t important, Uncle Bill can fix that easily,” he gazed intently at me, “it’s what you were going to do next,” his eyes narrowed, “do you understand why it was the wrong choice?”
“No”
“Why?”
“He wouldn’t listen to any of you Kovacks-sensei, not you, not Uncle Bill or even Uncle Harvey, he just kept on.” Kovacks-sensei leaned in closer as I continued, “he would have kept on until he managed to hurt one of us as badly as he could” I was shaking with barely restrained rage at the thought, I had always been taught that I was expected to do what I could to protect my family, “There was only one way to stop him.”
Kovacks-sensei sat back thinking, while his pencil tapped out a rhythm, before speaking again, “I understand your concerns, but there was another choice you could have made. I want you to think about it before the next class. If you can’t give me a better answer by then, I don’t know if I’ll be able to continue teaching you.” He had me go change back to street clothes while he talked to my mother.
A week, that was all I had to figure out what he was talking about. A week to make sense of a question that older heads than mine had never comprehended. I was screwed.
The next act of this little drama took place in Lyons’ general store. I was over there with my best friend, Dale. We were perusing the comic books commenting on what things most young boys will comment on, Mr. Lyons and Grandpa Wilson were standing by the counter talking when I managed to put my foot into it again, up to the thigh this time.
At issue, was the latest issue of a horror comic which had a scene, at the end, where the villain meets his poetic end. Dale laughed about it; I just got a sour look and told him that a similar situation might be ending my karate lessons. That comment caught Grandpa Wilsons’ attention, he walked over and asked, “What are you talking about, boy?” I then told him the whole sorry tale, hoping for at least a LITTLE sympathy from SOMEONE.
Oops, my bad.
His first comment reflected on my stupidity for freely tossing out the information that I was taking karate lessons (never mind about the stories in the local papers, the Cleveland Press and the Plain Dealer. He then proceeded to lambast me for what I did, “What were you thinking? You would have sent him to the Creator for what? For being STUPID? What gives you the right? What would he have learned?”
“But....”
“But nothing, boy, the only ‘but’ around here is the gigantic butt you made of yourself yesterday” he leaned in closer, “Do you know what mercy is, boy? Do you know that THAT is the way of our people?”
Our people? Whuzzee talkin’ about?
“We never, NEVER kill if it isn’t necessary, and never out of anger. Our people offer the fools who torment us the opportunity to learn the error of their ways by demonstrating that we could easily do away with them, and then we offer them a chance, but only one chance, to show that they’ve learned the error of their ways.” He leaned in closer, “And sometimes, you learn that you’ve taught someone respect, that listening with the heart is the solution to their problems. Sometimes, you even learn that you’ve made a friend.”
He turned to leave; saying as he did so,“Go home boy, think about what I told you.”
Why is it I was always listening to that old nut?
The next day Gunny (my father) had business in Cleveland, at the family house and with some of my uncles to arrange for supplies for a catering job. He asked if I wanted to go with him and I jumped at the chance. Didn’t, and still don’t, much like Cleveland but it’s where I was born and it still remains my third home (Toronto is number two on that list!).
While Gunny was busy I usually ran around little China, popping in at the restaurants and being “disreputable” with my cousins. Generally we’d swipe Cokes from the Shanghai (as if my uncle didn’t notice) and hang out near the corner where the family house was located. Big John was generally to be found somewhere nearby, walking his beat (a giant of a man, even among cops) and shooing us “off the street.” He knew that we were never far from him, he was always good for some penny candy or a great cops-n-robbers story.
That day I was bumming, all my cousins were either working or in school (alright, so I was playing hooky, it was educational !!!) and Big John was actually having to work. All normal options having been exhausted I went searching to see if any of my uncles or aunts were to busy to hang out with.
Strike out, after strike out ... I went down the street looking for ANYBODY to hang out with, not even Uncle Andy (at the Rockwell truck terminal) was available, he was on a run to Florida and wouldn’t be back until Saturday. Now what?
So I went prowling around the “hidden” parts of little China. Now, to make it perfectly clear, the hidden parts weren’t so much hidden, as they just were without signs. They were, and probably still are, a fact of life in a Chinese community. These are places where you might find anything from a healer, to a gung-fu instructor, and everything in between. It isn’t so much a xenophobic reaction to living in a new country as it is a practical recognition that some of our older ways aren’t able to be licensed, or even accepted, outside China.
Wandering around the alleys and through the upstairs apartments where business was frequently transacted I finally found someone who was willing to put up with me until Gunny concluded his business. Uncle Kenny
Uncle Kenny was a cook, as far as anyone else knew, but he was a great deal more than that, he was also recognized as a healer. He’d use herbs, acupuncture and moxibustion to help people as easily as most other people throw recipes together. Later, when I told him that I was reporting to boot camp, I found out that he was a great deal more.
This particular day he was “needling” a local gung-fu master (this guy was unknown outside the community, but he ROCKED) who had managed to strain his arm. I never did find out precisely how or why it was strained, but even Big John laughed when I asked him about it, before telling me that I didn’t need to know.
So Uncle Kenny asked the sifu if I could hang out and he said sure, why not? While we talked, I watched uncle use a hot herb pack, then a few strategically placed needles to alleviate the pain and speed the healing. Even though my knowledge was limited I could see the degree of change in the arm’s level of tension before and after the hot pack and needles.
We talked for a bit, mostly adult/kid stuff, how’s Mom, how’s Dad, and your grandparents and brothers, the usual. Since he also knew I was taking karate lessons he also asked about those, especially considering that he couldn’t usually shut me about anything I had just learned. I eventually even ‘fessed up to my honor challenge.
Mom tells me I’m a certifiable genius, that week I was just certifiably stupid.
Uncle Kenny was a beautiful man, educated, gentle and one hell of a fighter (according to my other uncles) but he did like to lecture. That day’s lecture was about the wu xia or “martial knights,” gung-fu fighters (both male and female) who were without peer and always mindful of their ancestors, in addition to being spiritually without equal. The Chinese equivalent of Sir Galahad, but with the strategic and combative abilities of a John Rambo.
This lecture could probably have gone on for at least an hour, but the sifu wasn’t as patient as I was (and in no danger of having his ears cuffed for being disrespectful to his elders) and he finally said, “Kenny, I think you’re about to put the boy to sleep.”
“Eh?”
“The boys about to go to sleep, he needs to hear it quicker”
The sifu opened his eyes but didn’t move from where uncle had put him, “Boy, you don’t understand what all the fuss is about, do you?”
“No sir”
“You were fighting to protect your brothers?”
“Yes sir”
“The problem is, by the way you were protecting your brothers, you were possibly starting a tong (for which read, clan) war. Creating more enemies for the family by removing one, do you see that?”
“Huh? Why would that happen?”
“No bad person is bad in their own eyes or even those of their own family. The boy probably thought he had to prove that you didn’t deserve promoted and that he did, are you learning about ‘wu de?”
“Ummmm, what’s that?”
“Hmmmmmmm, the closest translation would be ‘martial virtue,’ the ethics of the martial way”
“Yes sir, Uncle Frank makes us learn about Musashi, Sun-tzu and a lot of the Okinawan masters. He admires them because they flourished under repressive regimes”
He looked at me for a moment, “Quite a mouthful for one so young, but it appears this uncle of yours is teaching you correctly, now, see if you can grasp this, the boy is a threat to your brothers?”
“Yes sir”
“And if you kill him, how is the threat removed?”
“He’s gone, he can’t hurt anyone anymore”
“What if he has a brother and sister?”
“Mmmm, I don’t know”
“If he has a brother and sister, they could decide that they need to avenge him because they probably won’t believe that he deserved to die, understand?”
“Mmm, I guess”
“And if he has cousins who love him? Then what?”
O.K., I’m beginning to see what the fuss is about, guess I’m not necessarily THAT stupid.
“So I could have increased the troubles for my family?”
Sifu smiled,”See Kenny? The boy didn’t need lectured.” His eyes moved back to me, “What you need to do, boy, is to show your opponent that you are the stronger fighter, get him to a place where he has two choices, surrender or die, then you know what you do?”
I thought for a minute before tentatively answering, “Let him go?”
His smile grew, “Exactly, the first time.”
He looked at me more closely, “And if he does the same thing again? After you show him mercy?”
I thought about that one for a while, a long while, before answering.
“Wouldn’t he have decided his own fate then?”
“Exactly, young warrior, exactly correct, and by that time even his own clan will have probably written him off.”
Sifu looked at me a bit longer, then asked, “So, is the ‘mercy of a warrior’ so difficult to fathom? Or do you understand it better now?”
“I think I understand Sifu”
Sifu’s eyes closed and I stood there for a very long time, Sifu didn’t even look up and asked, “What are you waiting for young one? Do you think I’m going to bless you or something?”
“Something like that Sifu”
“Forget it young warrior, go prove yourself a full warrior, not a fool one. If Buddha approves, he’ll bless you himself.”
“Thank you Sifu”
I bowed and left.
At the next class, I dressed and joined the others as usual. I guess word had gotten around about what I had been told, because everyone was looking at the two of us whenever they thought we weren’t watching. The object of my ire was looking cockier than usual, certain that he would first get rid of me; then my brothers and then, in his mind anyway, he would get promoted.
Things weren’t going to work out that way.
He was up to his usual and when we paired off I arranged things, with Uncle Harvey’s complicity, so that we wound up together. As I expected, he tried another cheap shot but because I was watching for it, it didn’t work. I redirected his kick then dropped down to one knee, using a reverse hammer fist strike to the back of his leg to sweep him. He hit the mat, hard, and before he could move I had his left arm locked up, working a cross body choke with his own gi. While he stared I brought my hand back and screamed a kiai as I brought down a tiger claw strike for his eyes.
The hall was silent.
My strike stopped just short of his eyes, which were still open and staring.
He blinked once.
I asked quietly, “Friend or foe?”
“Huh?”
“Friend or foe?”
“What?”
“Which would you prefer to be? Friend or foe?”
“Friend, I guess”
I released him and stood, then helped him to his feet. There was no applause, no cheers, this was real life. Uncle Frank walked up to me and asked, “Should we let him stay?”
“Yes sensei”
We were never friends in the accepted sense of the word, but the harassment stopped. He eventually earned his belts and even eventually made the dan rankings. Where the real education starts.
I guess you could say it paid off for me also. It wasn’t too long after that, that I was offered the rank of 1st dan, your basic black belt. But I declined it, with thanks, because I felt I still had a long way to go in controlling my temper.
((gassho))
It's not about anger - it's about peace
It's not about power - it's about grace
It's not about knowing your enemy - it's about knowing yourself.
the Monk
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