Visiting The Dojo

It was customary to schedule ahead if one wanted to visit class.

People who just walked in off the street were turned away or asked to make an appointment as it showed a lack of awareness.

Visiting a class detailed arriving early and watching the first half of training.

After that a senior student or the teacher themselves would come over and answer any questions, which would either result in a thank you from the person watching, or an inquiry as to how they join the dojo.

For every dozen or so that would visit, maybe one would join as a new student.

As a sempai I would occasionally be sent over to interact with visitors and answer any questions. I understood that in the moment there was a certain fragility.

The person watching the class didn’t know me.

I didn’t know them.

I was a nobody training in a dojo far away from Japan, far away from the master, but in the moment, how I conducted myself would form the direct opinion of what they thought about.

What they thought about the dojo.

What they thought about my teacher.

What they thought about the master.

What they thought about the ryu.

I answered any questions with complete honesty, even if that was sometimes that I didn’t know. When there were questions that I knew but could not answer, I asked them a question about something.

Sometimes when I would talk to visitors my teacher would slightly pivot his head and listen.

It would be a lack of awareness to think that the teacher was always silent, always reserved and never noticed. He noticed everything and his communication depended on how he listened and tilted his head.

How I handled the questions, even the rather strange and crazy ones.

When I found myself in that same place, I knew right then and there that this is what I wanted to do with my life, specifically that this dojo is where I wanted to be.

Where I needed to be.

There was nothing mystical about it or predestined, just absolute certainty in that moment.

I watched the class without saying a word, and when the teacher came over to talk to me and asked me if I had any questions I asked him if I could become his student right there.

Looking at me, he asked how old I was.

17.

The dojo could only accept students over 18 years of age, and even then…

Before he could finish I asked how I could start training now.

Seeing I was apparently determined, the teacher said if my mother came in and watched a class, and she was willing to sign the release waiver for me, I could join the dojo.

As my mom watched the class I could tell she wasn’t happy.

Being punched, kicked, and thrown about.

My mom’s silence meant something different than the teachers.

After class the teacher came back over and asked my mom if she had any questions.

No.

Passing her a student form and training liability waiver, mom read it over and paused.

The part about possible permanent injury, loss of bodily function, paralysis, or even death did not sit well.

I just looked at her and calmly asked.

Mom, please just sign it now. If you don’t sign it now, I’ll just come back when I turn 18 in six months anyway, and in that time I will have just lost out on six months of training.

Mom signed it.

I can no longer ask her why she signed it, but I suspect it was because for the first time ever her son actually expressed an interest in something.