You Can't Push A String!

On Friday mornings during the school year, I teach an hour-long "enrichment" karate class to a group of 4th and 5th graders at a local elementary school before I head into work for the day. It's usually a fun and rewarding class: I get to do what I love with a great group of enthusiastic and energetic kids. We practice kicks and punches, we talk about martial arts in the movies, we have great conversations about respect and discipline, and I teach a little about karate history and philosophy along the way.

Last week, however, I started to teach a new group, and it was a total nightmare: the kids were inattentive, disrespectful, and noisy from the very beginning. It must have been the nice weather on a Friday before a long weekend, or so I thought. The students' poor behavior spiraled quickly downward to the point that I felt that I could no longer conduct a safe class. I made several attempts to regain control, but I failed each time. So as much as I hated to do it, I retreated to my last resort: I brought the kids back into their classroom, and I directed them to sit down and read silently at their desks for the rest of the period. And at the end of the hour, I left the school feeling defeated and dejected.

Ugh.

So last night I found myself dreading returning to my Friday morning class to endure another frustrating and disappointing experience. While preparing dinner, I sighed and said to my wife, "Man, I just don't know what I'm gonna do with these kids tomorrow."

She simply responded with a smile as she chopped the vegetables for our salad. "Well, dear, you're going to teach them," she said.

And, bam, it hit me:

How ironic was it that I could be confident facing an armed aggressor, and yet be apprehensive about the prospect of engaging a small group of unruly 11-year olds? Had all my years of training taught me nothing? Where was the all fearlessness and determination that I've learned in the dojo? Where had my ability to endure hardship gone? Where was my mastery? Had I lost the desire to help and inspire others with and through my art? No!

So I put on a new attitude on my way to class this morning. I assembled a lesson plan that would engage and amaze even the most unimpressable child. I downed a cup of coffee, and headed off to class full of energy and excitement.

Within the first 5 minutes of class, I got some feedback:

"This is stupid."

"Can we do something else?"

"I don't like karate."

"This is so boring."

Then the side conversations started, followed quickly with fooling around that led to pushing and shoving and posturing among the children. %@*#&! I'd lost the class again!

Once more I stopped teaching, directed the kids back to their desks, and had each of them open a book for silent reading. And then I realized that that's probably exactly what they wanted to do this morning in the first place.

My sensei once told me, "You can't push a string." He's right. No one learns karate or appreciates what it has to offer unless they truly want to. It's something that can't be forced. You can't win 'em all, I guess. But what the heck am I gonna do for next week's class?