At the beginning of each class, the children lined up in rows, by seniority, which they always knew, even though the parents looked bewildered. They stood straight in their crisp uniforms, tugged at the belts of so many different colors, and waited at parade rest.

Then he spoke. The bear of a man at the front of the room, the man who could be so warm and so stern. “Student Creed!”

The children would recite: “To build True Confidence through Knowledge in the mind, Honesty in the heart, Strength in the body. To keep Friendship with one another and to build a Strong and Happy Community. Never fight to achieve selfish ends but to develop Might for Right.”

“Tenets!” he called.

And the children would yip (because they were too young to bark) out the school’s guiding principles:

“Courtesy!

Integrity!

Perseverance!

Self-control!

Indomitable spirit!”

“How do we lead?”

“By example, sir!”

Followed by a raised fist and a loud, “Pilsung!”

By example, that is how Master C led. An impressive one he set.

We first met Master C when Number One Son was seven years old. Mrs. P had suggested karate as a physical activity for him to undertake when he wasn’t playing a sport. She had called some local schools and, based on her phone call with Master C, had hit on his as a good possibility. I took Number One for him to check the place out.

He was reluctant to go. We told him he didn’t have to take it, but he should give it a chance. Just keep an open mind, we said. 

We arrived early, and so we watched the last fifteen minutes or so of the class that Master C was teaching. The kid quietly watched from my lap.

After the students were gone, Master C introduced himself. He took Number One onto the mats and spent five minutes showing him some stances and teaching him a simple punch or block or something—I don’t recall precisely what. When they came back to the lobby, Number One walked a little more lightly than before.

We sat in the office, and Master C explained what he expected of students. He outlined the seven Home Rules—which included items like “When you get home from school, have a healthy snack and then do your homework” and “Respect your parents, teachers, and elders.” (The dad did a mental fist pump.) He described the different belt levels and class schedule. Number One listened closely but did nothing to suggest he’d budged from his avowed disinterest. I thanked Master C for his time and said we’d let him know.

As we walked to the car, Number One said, “Well, I’m not sure I want to do it, but if I did, I’d want to do classes on Mondays and Thursdays.” No fish had ever taken bait more happily.

Thus began fourteen years of a rewarding experience with a man who taught more than karate. 

Master C encouraged and supported his students while at the same time holding them to exacting standards. He celebrated their achievements (there was a belt ceremony every month) and thereby taught them to acknowledge the triumphs of their classmates. While he was clearly proud of those students who demonstrated exceptional grace and power, he also relished the hard work that the less physically gifted put into their efforts to master the needed skills.

He demanded that students give back to the school. Once they achieved provisional black belts (which came a year before the real black belt), they were required to work as assistant instructors. Those who showed real skill as assistants could eventually lead classes. At fifteen, Number One Son became the chief instructor of the youngest students. He was assisted by Number Two, who had also started at age seven. They were, Master C proudly called them, the “A-Team” (a play on the last name).

He taught self-defense, in case “Mr. Bully” would come to take their lunch money. Master C always emphasized a simple rule: avoid a fight if you can. (Handy to know, if you’re ever mugged.) But if you can’t, this is what to do.

Warm and kindly, Master C was able to coax the tiniest, most shy boy or girl into a spinning side kick. He was tough, too. Black belt tests were day-long affairs full of a range of examinations done under the watchful eyes of five masters. To win a third-degree black belt, the student had to spar three advanced black belts at the same time. (Mrs. P hated that part.)

And he was a showman. At the annual school Christmas party, after all the student exhibitions of breaking boards and choreographed forms, Master C took the floor. First he had the female master who was half his size throw him onto the floor a few times. Then he soloed by breaking cinder blocks with his forehead.

He created a family atmosphere. Parents were invited to belt ceremonies, and many helped the school in various ways. All rooted for all the children during the marathon black-belt tests. Master C often acknowledged parents’ help and support, and each year gave out a “Parent of the Year” award. Not surprisingly, countless younger children, like our Number Two, followed their older brothers or sisters into the school. Many parents did, too. 

In all of these things, he was a teacher.

Master C tying Number Two Son’s third-degree black belt at his belt ceremony.

When both boys graduated from high school, many in our family gathered to celebrate: the Folks, aunts and uncles, cousins—we had a joyous houseful.

There was one other person that each wanted at their family graduation party, though. Master C.

Words and picture © 2010 AtHome Pilgrim.

All Rights Reserved.