shugyosei: Chapter 1. 1968

We have all heard the phrase "the first step is the hardest to take."

In my case that first step is metaphorical with regards to my practice in karate-do, specifically the Japanese style of Shotokan-ryu. I clearly … no, I vividly remember, that first step; one taken by a small boy trying to fit into a foreign land. A step taken with trepidation! Why?

I recall thinking that my secret was out! I thought people would know why I was taking that step! My life would be opened like the pages of a book in a public library. But there was no longer any place to hide; I found myselt sitting in the rear seat of my parent's car heading towards my date with destiny. It sounds so dramatic now, but at that time it truly was - well at least in my eyes - the eyes of a 12 year old!

I guess it was a positive step in my life, one that seemed almost akin to entering another parallel universe. The transition I found myself about to undertake would all but change my life forever; my story was about to become bolder if not better. One thing was for certain; I would never be that same person again!

I crossed the threshold of an elementary school gymnasium in a town called Mission City in British Columbia.

Just how co-incidental would that step be within the tapestry that was to become my life?

Only a little over a year before I had moved from Bridgend, South Wales to Abbotsford, British Columbia. That voyage was of course a life changing one, and after travelling by boat, and train we arrived in a small town called Mission City. A family lost in a small town located across the Fraser River from our final destination, Abbotsford. Mission City was, to my mind, a town from the Wild West! I was waiting for the cowboys and indians to ride past, whooping and hollering. I expected to see people carrying six-shooters! Instead I saw huge cars with fins on the rear, looking like strange whales moving on the wrong side of the road. We waited for a taxi at the Canadian Pacific train station for what seemed like hours. Little did I know what that town (Mission) would come to mean to me, or the influence that it would have on my very existence.

There I was a young boy, in a strange land; lost and confused yet thrilled to be starting a new life. Unknowingly that boy was about to learn what it was like to be bullied!

It started when I was promoted from grade 6 (my age group) to grade 7 after only two weeks in the school. I recall sitting some sort of exams, and then being moved off! SO now I was the youngest in the class by a year, and I was the one who spoke ‘funny’. The bullying started, groups of kids asking me to show up after school to do something, then being subjected to taunting! I did what most kids did … kept it to myself.

So there I was, perhaps eighteen months later, once again standing in Mission City. For some strange reason I was re-tracing my footsteps for the second time. That same small and strangely named town was becoming part of my life again.

My Welsh accent was not accepted, my turn of phrase too different. My father was a school-teacher, with a reputation for strictness; and I became the perfect victim; a small, shy, skinny Welsh boy who was the son of that school teacher. Every time my father upset someone, or someone’s brother or sister, I seemed to 'cop the fallout!'

I had told my parents of the bullying, and the rugby team (of which my father was coach) was dispatched to speak to my bullies! This mortified me even more because now I was using people I did not even know to fight my battles for me. It was nice to have an army behind me, but there was no respect to be gained, just more ridicule - although the verbal bullying was not as bad as the physical!

Somehow we found out about a karate club across the river. And that is how I found myself, approaching the school. My dirty secret was about to come out! The people there would know why I had come. Would they laugh at me? Would they too scorn me? Did I really want to take that first step into the room? Would I fit in? What if it was all in vain?

There I stood, looking through the open door into the school gymnasium and I was instantly transfixed. Watching people dressed in those funny white pyjamas, moving around the floor performing strange but exciting maneuvers excited me. It made me feel something I had not experienced before. I had experienced Judo back in Wales, but it was not for me. This 'karadi' was different. I wanted to become part of it.

These people seemed to move so fast; yet the scene unfolding itself was becoming etched in my mind in some sort of slow motion play.

Our television had been able to receive the ABC TV Network, and I had seen the Green Hornet. These guys were doing what 'Kato' did. Punching and kicking, with what seemed to be effortless concentration and skill. Karate looked, to me, a little like a strange dance, but the controlled aggression immediately struck a chord within me. I wanted to become part of that parallel world. I wanted to escape my life. I wanted to become a karate-ka. Most of all I wanted to wear a green belt around those pyjamas, like the two instructors who were named Isy and Graham. I wanted to become someone!

They seemed to understand my plight, and although all the people in the room were older teenagers or adults, and I was still pre-teen, I was told I could start at their next session. I have no idea what happened on that ride home, I was imagining what it would be like to join those people in the funny pyjamas.

I was told that I did not need a set of pyjamas for my first class, but there was no way I was going to be different again! This time I wanted to fit in right from the outset. I was going to learn that ‘hajime’ meant to start, and I was ready to do just that, with all guns blazing.

So my pyjamas, the ‘do-gi’, were ordered. It, and I, would be there for the next session.

I knew that by donning that uniform something was going to change. Little did I realise just how much, and what an influence on my life karate was going to become. To be more precise karate was to consume my life.