Winners and Losers
© Tai Shin Doh, 2002
The eight-year-old
had successfully, albeit very tentatively, walked his way through the basics
of his first kata. That
was all that had separated him from his yellow belt. The master smiled broadly at him and high-fived
the youngster, then pointed him over to a small line of eager, bubbly kids
awaiting their promotions. Around
some he tied yellow belts, while around others he tied orange belts.
After the
class bowed out, the eight-year-old bounded joyously over to his parent
who sat along the wall with body language and facial expression radiating
disappointment. “Why didn’t you
do those other katas like the kids who got orange belts?” that parent
snapped at the boy. “I don’t understand. What
went wrong?” he continued. “This
yellow belt doesn’t mean much as long as others got better belts!” The
boy stood, stunned and dejected, staring glassily at the floor in front
of him where his parent had dropped his coveted, new yellow belt.
That child
worked for eleven weeks – willingly, cooperatively, consistently and successfully
- to learn enough to qualify for his yellow belt. And in an instant, his own parent taught him
what it was to feel like a loser.
The kid
is a winner in my book because he realized, at only eight years
of age, that he could learn – and master – important things by himself
if he tried, and that he liked that. It
made him feel better, more in control, more positive about his prospects
in an often-unnurturing world. Winning
is the discovery and realization of the power we have as individuals to
grow in the abilities to achieve, mature, actualize and contribute in a
positive way. It’s not the belt or its color. It’s what the kid did to get that belt. And he knew that.
The parent,
on the other hand, is a loser because, in a single moment, he damaged
his own son’s sense of self-achievement earned over the last eleven weeks. To
that unenlightened parent, the belt was everything. The
Holy Grail. The Golden Fleece. The sword Excalibur. And by investing so much importance in the
color of a belt, he had made that belt as unreal as those legendary trophies. Losing is the replacement of the joys of
learning and achievement (of an intangible - but invaluable - ethic, integrity
or milestone) with the lust for a cold, tangible thing… the trophy
itself rather than what the trophy suggests.
In the martial
arts, the winner is that person who learns, and glories in that learning. When
a white belt enters a karate tournament, he’d love to win a medal or
trophy. When an advanced belt enters a tournament,
he or she ideally seeks to achieve certain numerical scores from
the judges, scores that indicate how well the art has been learned in the
eyes of masters. The transition
from desire for things to a desire for learning is the essence of the “doh”
or way of the martial artist.
Isn’t it
fantastic and exciting that a single eight-year-old, even laboring as he
is under the burden of a clearly unenlightened parent, can clearly see
the real value in the martial arts? It makes one renew one’s faith
in humankind.
And isn’t
it sad that a single parent can make one question one’s faith in humankind?
But here’s
where the “cup-half-full” folks come out on top of the “cup-half-empty”
crowd: that same eight-year-old came back the next week wearing his yellow
belt. “Here I am, sensei,” he claimed, “ready
to learn.”
Now there is
a winner!
Respectfully
submitted,
Ronald F.
Balas, Soke/Judan
March 17, 2002
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