The dojo seemed to thrive under the new regime, and
I was totally hooked! I was smitten with karate, and to a degree with the
people I was starting to see and train amongst - those Vancouver brown belts. I
had finally found friends in my new land.
Narumi sensei was visiting the dojo more often
along with Greg and Howard. In some ways it seemed as if Graham and Isy were
being relegated back to being students, which of course they always were. Greg
was becoming more and more involved as the dojo leader and started to have
influence in my private life as well.
The blue VW was visiting our house at least once
per week. Greg was often by himself, but sometimes with others like Ritsu (a
Japanese brown belt), Howard, and at times Sabu (another Japanese brown belt).
They were all 1st Kyu in the Shiseikai
dojo, and were to my mind the elite of the Vancouver karate scene. I wanted to
be like them!
Greg would always bring a karate book with him and
lend it to it to me to read. After a few minutes of idle chatting I was
dispatched to my room to devour the contents of the books.
One day I was in the basement of the house,
probably trying to build my training room (yes I had been given a room
downstairs to turn into my own dojo!) and I moved a piece of old Gyproc. I let
go of it, and it fell awkwardly. There was a galvanized nail in the board, and
that nail decided, by it own volition, to pierce right through my finger. Talk
about a good nukite! I went upstairs to show my parents, and they laughed,
telling me to take off 'the joke ring'. But this was real. I had a nail stuck
right through one of the fingers of my right hand! It did not hurt, it was not
even bleeding, I was too shocked to realise I was in pain.
I was shipped off to the MSA (Matsqui Sumas and
Abbotsford) medical centre and Dr. Pratt (yes, that was his real name) removed
the offending object. It was not the most pleasant experience but there I was
bandaged, with a war wound and a great story to tell anyone stupid enough to
listen to it. I was so proud in a perverse way! I classed it as a karate injury
- well I was building my dojo after all!
Off to the Mission dojo I went, put on my do-gi,
proudly showed everyone my bandaged hand and performed about 100 punches then
went dizzy!
Greg took one look at me and told me to sit down.
My 'punishment' for being so stupid was to read Nishiyama sensei’s book (Karate
– The art of Empty Hand Fighting) that Greg 'magicked' out of his bag! I
had to sit and read it, but was not allowed to leave the dojo! I had to also
watch the training and try to guess the errors that Greg was going to pick
people up on. Was I going to be a karate instructor one day? That was a lesson
I would never forget. Injured or not, the dojo was a place to go and learn.
Karate was not only for fit people!
I was quite amazed that the stern Greg softened
enough to let me slack. Was there a crack in his armour? Was there a person
under that stern exterior? Hell, was Greg human? No, it had to be the Frost 222
painkillers I was ingesting. I wasn't in pain - I was stoned!
Once healed, which in reality was only a few days
later, I was back in the dojo trying to terrorise the adult members, but as
always without any degree of success. After all, I was an orange belt (7th
Kyu) going on 10th dan!
My next secret was due to emerge in one class.
Floyd and I decided to be clever and sit with the rest of the group on the wall
outside during the break! Being 'grown up' and 'cool' I decided to fire up a
cigarette. Floyd and I had been smoking for about a week, and now we could be
part of the boys club. We were so cool (even if I wasn't inhaling as that
reduced me to a spluttering wreck) sitting with the adults puffing on Craven A
or similar.
Graham was none too impressed! In fact I would say
he was totally disgusted.
He asked what we should do for the second half of
the class. I made a suggestion about Kihon Ippon Kumite and was told to mind my
place and that it would be a good idea to ‘shut up’! What? I was mortified so
inwardly I slunk away. But there was no way that I was going to be defeated! I
would never leave the dojo! But I realised I was being told off either for
overstepping the mark, or for being a goof and trying to smoke.
Somehow my parents discovered that I was smoking. I
wonder who the informant was? Greg, co-incidentally, said nothing about
it (he wasn't there), and luckily sensei never found out or I would have been
in serious trouble (my alcoholic induction was yet to come at his hands ...
another great story - at least in my mind).
Practices were as per normal, always intense, but
to a degree they seemed to be aimed at an upcoming grading. Greg came to the
dojo one day with the announcement we were waiting for. Narumi sensei was going
to conduct a kyu examination! Great news indeed! But there was a downside for
Floyd and me, as Narumi sensei did not recognize orange belt. If we tested and
passed then we would move to green belt 5th
kyu. If we did not pass, then we would have to revert to yellow belt, but at 6th
Kyu. Narumi sensei only recognized 9th
and 8th kyu as white belts, 7th
and 6th kyu as yellow, and 5th
and 4th kyus as green!
I was confused and ‘up in the air’ as a few weeks
earlier Greg had said that Floyd was very coordinated and was doing well and me
… I was uncoordinated, lanky, skinny and basically was never going to be good
as long as the hole in my bottom pointed downwards! I was too gawky! I was
growing like a weed, and had virtually no control over my limbs.
Was Greg serious? Really. Was I that bad? I thought
‘well my friend screw you! I will show you!’
If I failed would I really have to go back to
yellow? Floyd and I spoke about it. On the day of the grading I went to
Mission, nervous but determined. Floyd decided to stop training and did not
come. I would not give up for one simple reason. Greg had issued me a
psychological challenge, and there was no way he was going to win.
Was I nervous? Oh yes. Was I scared …
hahahahahahaha! No, I wasn’t, I was bloody petrified!
Off to the dojo I went. There he was, Narumi
sensei, sitting at a table looking more menacing than usual. Who else was
there? Ritsu, Mitchell, Sabu, Greg, Howard? I don’t remember. Only one thing
mattered; that green piece of cloth was going to be mine! I was going to become
a senior grade (keeping in mind that Graham and Isy were teaching me at the
start wearing green belts).
I was now probably 14 years old. For 5th
Kyu we had to perform kihon ippon-kumite to Narumi's standard, hard and strong.
But there was no Floyd! My safety blanket had been removed. I was the smallest
and youngest and had to do the kumite with Tom! Narumi sensei had to be joking
… didn’t he? A couple of punches and kicks later, it was all over. I have
no idea what basics or kata I had performed. All I remember is that I had to
try and beat Tom on that kihon-ippon kumite, and he was senior to me, and
older, and bigger, and you guessed it .... better! Did I achieve that? I have
no idea. I don't know if I hit him, or he hit me … but I was still standing at
the end, and I was in one piece.
I recall listening intently at the end of the
grading. A cold look in my direction came from Narumi sensei. Oh No! My mind
was reeling with the possibility of failure!
I remember being told that perhaps it was time for
me to travel the 40 to 50 miles to Vancouver to train, at least once weekly.
Why? Because now I had a green belt.
I had survived that hurdle, and I had been asked to
go to the heart of Shiseikai!
Floyd must have hated to see it, but I made sure I
paraded around my garden training the next day, wearing that dark coloured
belt. I probably stayed out there for 2 or 3 hours!
There was a second piece of icing to be put on the
cake! My parents had promised me that if I passed green belt I could have a
canvass do-gi … a heavy weight do-gi. A real gi, a serious gi. A
karate man's gi. This was it - I had finally arrived!
Where the hell was Hastings Street anyway? I was
soon to find out.
Once again I found myself to be the only child in a
dojo full of adults. Those adults were a lot higher graded than the Mission
group, so ... as Gilbert O’Sullivan would sing a few months later, I was alone
again (naturally)! As the saying goes 'c'est la vie'.
