When the late Mizukami Sensei still taught Aikido, people interested would drop by and visit the Dojo. They watched his class. After the class, they talked with Sensei. Predictably, Sensei told them to check out other Aikido dojos, as well. To make sure that they really wanted to practice Aikido. He said, “Aikido is repetition, aches and pains, and a lot of sweat.” Yeah, that was Sensei’s enrollment pitch. Really.
On numerous occasions, I stood next to Sensei as he spoke with visitors. Often, they left with weird looks on their faces. Occasionally, someone signed up right then and there. Albeit, seldom.
Over the years, Sensei said the same thing over, and over, and over again to our visitors. We were a small Dojo that sustained upon growing our membership. When I was Shodan (first-degree black belt), I’d stand beside Sensei, thinking, “What the hell is he doing? We need more students.” Seemingly, Sensei scared away any potential new students. WTF?
As I matured and evolved in my Aikido training and rank, I got it. Sensei could care less if someone wanted to train or not. When someone chose to train in Aikido, they had to know what they were signing up for. Then, it was on. Sensei was all in, too.
My late Mom made me take Aikido when I was 12 years old after we returned from our family summer vacation. Actually, Mom forced me to take Aikido. She didn’t want me taking an offensive-minded martial art like karate that had punching and kicking. She specifically chose Aikido for me. In retrospect, Mom was very wise. Only mad love and respect to Mom.
I was the short, fat, unathletic kid, who didn’t play any sports. I discovered that I had an affinity for Aikido. I was actually good at it. However, I quit Aikido when I got into Iolani School, the prestigious college prep school. My parents had paid a lot of money at the time for me to attend. Consequently, I gave up my dreams of ever becoming a black belt.
After completing my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Electrical Engineering, I moved to Los Angeles for my career in satellite systems engineering. One day, my dear friend Charles from the Westchester YMCA asked if I would be interested in checking out an Aikido class in West Los Angeles. I said, “Yeah.”
Charles and I watched the Aikido class. That class was actually an Aikido Seminar with a Sensei visiting from Japan. That’s how I initially met the late Mizukami Sensei, who was Chief Instructor at the Dojo. Sensei was second-generation Japanese American, Nisei. He didn’t say a whole lot. He was no bullshit. I got that Sensei could teach me a lot. So, I signed up. I knew what I signed up for. Well, at least for the most part.
That was the genesis of our 25-year journey together. Sensei became the father I needed to become the greater man. Nothing, but mad love and respect to Sensei. Rest in Peace.
Sensei yelled at me when I didn’t listen to his instructions when I wasn’t being present. He got mad when I got careless in my Aikido technique, possibly injuring another student. When I was 8 years old my Dad yelled at me all the time. Dad yelled at me out of anger and fear, not knowing how to raise me. He had repeated what his Dad had done to him as a boy. That’s all that he knew.
Sensei was different. Sensei yelled, spoke loudly because he saw that I was greater than what I knew myself to be. The profound difference. Sensei created the generous space to succeed or fail. As long as I did my best; as long as I kept getting up when I fell, I was okay as I was. Just train.
He said, “Take a glancing blow if you have to, Jon. It’s one time.” Just train. It’s not like I had to get somewhere. I worked on my next greater-than versions. I was free to be myself.
When I got frustrated training for Shodan, because I wasn’t as good as I wanted to be, Ishibashi Sensei said, “It’s your time to get yelled at.” Yeah, I got what I signed up for. I signed up for becoming greater than what I knew myself to be. Just train. Follow instructions. Show up. Put in the work. Make it work.
I took the glancing blows when I had to. Sensei said, “You’re not going to get away scot-free.” In anything meaningful to do, meaningful to become, I make sacrifices. What am I willing to do and what am I willing to give up to be the best version of myself? That’s what I signed up for with my eyes wide open. Just saying.
I could complain, It’s not fair! Or That’s too hard!”Yet, I knew what I signed up for when I dedicated myself to becoming the greater man, the greater human being. Mizukami Sensei said, “Take a glancing blow, if you have to. it’s one time.” That lesson transcended beyond the Dojo. I take life’s glancing blows for what’s meaningful to me.
Years ago in Sunday morning Aikido practice, I trained with 14-year-old Lukas on iriminage (clothesline technique to the head). Sensei walked over to us practicing. He said to Lukas, “Show me.” Lukas threw me solidly to the dojo mat. Sensei smiled. He said, “You’re a better teacher than me.” Then he walked away. Lukas and I looked at each other, “WTF?”
In the bigger picture, I always wanted to be like Sensei, be a good man, be the man he was proud of. In Sensei’s eyes, I was. That was meaningful. That’s what I signed up for. Just saying. Amen.
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