Learning To Be Silent

I’m not going to mention his name, because I’m not sure he’d want that.

He’d been training a long time, and not just Aikido. So long, in fact, that his instructor, a senior American practitioner, once referred to him as sempai.

The day he came I was teaching. We were cubs back then, that day, rolling and tumbling on the mat. Not him, though, as he watched us training, off to the side. He was a wolf.

So one day he’s teaching bokken and I was there. I was arrogant then, and amused, when he walked over to demonstrate.

It’s hard to describe what happened. I doubt he even remembers it. But I do.

I held my bokken before me, the way I was taught, the blade extending outward, my wrist slightly turned. I projected from my center. It was, I remember thinking, a solid and impenetrable barrier. With time enough and patience, I could almost keep the world at bay.

The cut was immediate, decisive. So quickly did the blade drop, that I had no time to think, to even breathe. As the moment passed, and my breath returned, I felt the tip of his sword resting lightly against my trachea.

Nowadays when I teach bokken, I demonstrate the movements, again the way I was taught. Sometimes, though, I’ll stop, and think back to that day.

“You have to understand,” I tell them, “this happens very fast…”

And then I’ll wait, and look, and see if they understand. And sometimes, as I watch them, I’ll see my younger self: eager to train, quick to answer, and confident.

He certainly didn’t look extraordinary. Tall, thin, his hair carefully combed back, he would sometimes hunch his shoulders, the way some people do when they walk. When I first met him, there was nothing to indicate anything unusual, or special.

I remember when he first stepped foot on the mat. He did so carefully, without pretense. He asked if we would accept him as a student. He seemed, in sum, what he appeared to be: an older gentlemen, gracious, with an on-off, sometimes persistent, cough.

I’ll never forget that first class. Sensei was teaching koshinage, which can be a bear for new students to pick up. I paired up with him, bowing low. I grabbed his wrist, and prepared to explain the mechanics of the throw. “Put your feet here,” I began to say. “Slide this way.”

As soon as I moved, or began to move, I suddenly found myself upended, staring into space.

Thwat.

Jim was above me, smiling, a twinkle in his eye. His time with us was like that. Techniques he had no business knowing, executed with a grace far beyond his experience. But other techniques, those I would have guessed he knew…nothing. During those times he looked every bit the 5th kyu he was.

Over time, Sensei and I would get to know Jim better. We’d go to lunch, hang out, shoot the breeze. But we never asked him about his martial background. Jim never brought it up, and—strangely, now that I think about it—it seemed intrusive of me to ask.

One summer the dojo took a day trip to Orlando. Jim was there, of course, and I resolved to finally broach the subject. We were alone, by the car, when I flat out asked him:

“How good are you, really?”

He looked at me for a moment, and then, quietly, gave me his martial arts resume. I was floored. Sixth dan, Kodenkan Jiu-Jitsu. Fifth dan, Karate, multiple styles. Others, too. Apparently he’d been training, continuously, for the past thirty-five years.

Yes, he was a beginner in Aikido. Yes, he smoked too much. But man, that koshinage.

About five years ago Sensei and I heard he had a mild heart attack. We tried to find him, then. We knew, in a vague sort of way, where he worked, so we went out one Saturday, determined.

I haven’t seen Jim now in about seven years. I hope he is well. I miss him.

It was 1982, and for me, the beginning of punk. I remember the first time I heard Boys Don’t Cry, the album, and it blew my mind. There was a club in those days, Einstein A-Go-Go, and years later, on open mike night, I would watch my friends play there, badly.

It was also the time when the wider world began to slowly seep into my consciousness. I can’t say for certain whether my interest in the martial arts began then. I know I began reading about Aikido in high school. It didn’t matter in any case – I wouldn’t start training for another decade or so. But the seed was planted.

A few minutes ago I heard the single What a Wonderful World, covered by Joey Ramone. I can’t help but think about O-Sensei, idealism, and the crazy, anarchic world we live in.

Editors Note: For those who may not know, Sam is leaving us this August, for greener pastures in Atlanta. Sam began training with us in 2007 at the University of North Florida. Before Aikido, he trained in Shorinji-Ryu Karate, and he plans to continue his Aikido training in Georgia. On a parting note, I thought I’d dig through the archives and post an article he wrote. The original can be found in our June 2008 newsletter. Enjoy!

After studying Karate for three years and then moving to Jacksonville, I arrived at the University of North Florida as a post-baccalaureate student in the Fall of 2007.  At that time, I did not know much about Aikido, although I had a sensei back in Gainesville, where I am from, who informed me that Aikido study was amenable for somebody who knew Karate.

My name is Sam McCrea and I am a high school math teacher here in Jacksonville.  When I first set foot in the dojo, I did not know much about Aikido, but I did know what not to look for in a school:  pretense, grandiosity, and promises of “a black-belt within X number of years.”  Instead I knew that one should look for a simple, dedicated school with inhabitants dedicated to their art.  I found that at UNF. 

My maturation as an Aikido student has been very gradual.  During the fall semester last year I generally went to a lesson once a week.  Now I usually go two or three times a week and I can sense a growth in my abilities.  For somebody like me, Aikido study is an excellent way to put my concentrative powers and self discipline to the test.  I am famous for not being able to pay attention, but Aikido forces me to do it. 

I am also impressed by the martial ability of the instructors and students.  I attended a seminar hosted by Brevard Aikikai in January where Tonya was promoted to 2nd kyu, a rank she now shares with Oscar.  I have also recently been made aware of the rank status of our “Aikido Family,” including Karl, Leslie, and David, who are all 4th kyu.  In addition to being impressed by their artistry, the members make the dojo a place where I feel welcome.  I am comfortable here and feel I am among friends.  If I ask Sensei to demonstrate a technique for me, I can rest assured she’ll do it gladly, even if I’m literally asking her for the hundredth time.

I say hats off to the Aikido Center of Jacksonville; as long as I’m a student at UNF, I will continue to train here.

You’ve come a long way in a short time, Sam. (As have the students you mention in your 2008 article!) On behalf of Sensei and the school, congratulations on your new adventure. We’ll miss you!

This past week you may have noticed some…strange happenings here. Briefly put, we (and other websites) were subjected to a code injection exploit that (erroneously) indicated the presence of some bad things online. The good news: There was no malware of any kind on the site. So you can rest easy.

And although it would make a better blog entry to attribute this to some sort of ninja payback, the truth is far more prosaic. In reality, this was most likely an automated attack, which could have originated anywhere. Such is life on the information superhighway.

One other bit of good news: After cleaning up our code, I added some server side rules which should make this type of exploit much more difficult in the future.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming…