shugyosei: Chapter 2. Ichi ... ni.

The next week my parents drove me the 12 miles from our home to Mission City. I recall it as a ride of huge anticipation! It was to become my favourite ride. We had to cross the Fraser River over a rickety old bridge that allowed traffic (or trains) in one direction only! I felt like we were looking at death in the eye and cheating it. To say you could see the river below between the wooden slats of the floor was not an understatement. Having survived that bridge crossing there was only one more obstacle ... I had to summon up the courage to walk into that gymnasium.

Enter the Dojo part 1!

Both Isy and Graham welcomed me. I can still remember some of the people in the room. The highest students were orange belts, and there were perhaps two yellow belts. One was a blonde teenager (about 17 years old) named Tom, the other a man in his late 20's named Doug. I still remember their surnames, but as I do not have their permission to publish them I will only mention them by their given names.

Isy and Graham were, I learned, 4th Kyus. Their next step was a brown belt. Wow - brown belt - didn't that mean black was next? They were almost experts! I was learnng from experts! Enough of that … it was time to be donning my white pyjamas. I entered the dojo, and spent the next two hours learning the straddle leg stance, punch, and the rising block. That is all I can recall from that class, but it was enough! I was going to return, even if I had to walk there! Okay, maybe not, if I had to walk over that bridge.

My second class was a bit of a shock!

I bowed into the dojo, it was no longer a school gymnasium. I caught myself smiling, as I had also started bowing every time I entered my own school gym! I must have looked insane at school! But as I was the only one learning karate, it made me different, but this time in a good way!

After bowing in, I looked around the dojo and Isy and Graham were talking to a man who had his do-gi hanging from his hand; it was rolled up with a brown belt around it. I thought ‘who was this guy?’ ‘Why was he here?’ ‘Where did he come from?’

Greg, as I found out, had come from the main dojo in Vancouver. He was one of the senior students of a man I was to meet just a couple of weeks later. He had come or had been sent to check the dojo, as there was to be an examination for belt grades.

Greg was very different to Isy and Graham, he was so serious. He was younger than them, with a severe hair-cut. He was almost scary he seemed so intense. With the greatest respect to him, I recall thinking he could have worn an army uniform in a war film! Maybe I had made the wrong decision? Maybe it was time to find something else to do?

Greg did not smile very much, he just glared and made us do things over and over. I had no idea what a front or round kick was, but I had done my homework from the previous week. I had practised my kiba-dachi and age-uke! At least I thought I had to the satisfaction of the greatest critic … me! I hoped it impressed him.

I seemed to survive that class, and recall seeing Greg speaking to my parents at the end of the class. I wondered what that was all about? I never did find out.