Spring gasshuku

Today was the end of the aikido year and the spring gasshuku. There are three gasshukus during the year, each one a day-long intensive schedule of training, meals, working, playing and more training together. The end of the day involves testing for the next belt colour for eligible students.

In our Aikido club there are three criteria for belt testing -- positive attitude, skill level and commitment (meaning 40 to 60 classes and at least two gasshukus attended since the last level was achieved). Generally speaking it's the classes that define the rate of progress through the levels. It is expected that it will take the better part of a year to progress to the next level since there are about 80 classes available per year. We knew Sophie was close to testing again. She had got her yellow belt late last fall, but due to Calgary trips and a double-whammy of extended illnesses in the winter she missed a lot of classes. So she'll test at summer camp for her orange belt.

What we didn't realize until last week was that Fiona was eligible for yellow belt testing. None of the kids in the 4- to 6-year-old class has ever had a colour belt, so we just assumed belt testing didn't begin until a student officially joined the Children's Class for the 7-year-olds and up. But it turns out they've just not had a student in the younger class in recent times who has had the skills, the required number of classes and the stamina necessary to fully participate in the gasshukus. Until Fiona.

So today was the day. It started out badly at 2:30 a.m. when she awoke feeling nauseated and with a low-grade fever. She eventually came and got me, threw up a little, felt better and then she and I spent a restless remainder of the night together cuddling and trying to get back to sleep but not managing much. She did sleep for a couple of hours around 6 a.m. and awoke feeling just fine, no fever, hungry for a bit of breakfast and, although tired, totally psyched to go to the gasshuku.

She wasn't really herself all day. A little stuffed up. Not much appetite. Tired. But she wasn't floridly unwell and she was determined to stick things out. And she enjoyed herself and worked very hard. And at the end of it all she was awarded her yellow belt, along with one of her good friends and a whole bunch of other aikido buddies. She was pleased enough to put her dogi on again to model her belt outside at home.

Gasshuku

	It means "a seminar retreat," or "training and living together." At our dojo, for the children, it's an aikido intensive that, while it doesn't involve any overnights, does include shared meals, activities, chores and classes over the course of a long day. This is Sophie's 4th gasshuku, including the summer aikido camp. She tested for and received her yellow belt at the last one. And for the first time Fiona was welcome to try the gasshuku, provided I could be available to take her home at mid-day if she was running out of steam. She was keen to give it a try. They started by cleaning the dojo floor, and then with a double class. The first hour was devoted to including the younger children (the age-group Fiona is technically in), the ones not doing the gasshuku. There was a lot of stretching and review of simple skills, and a couple of games. After a quick break the next hour was more focused on practicing and refining skills. I was in the kitchen prepping lunch but I could hear them working really hard. By lunch time they were all rubber-legged. After lunch they had outdoor activities for an hour or so. Then it was back into the dojo for more skills development. By this time one other under-8 had joined the class, so Fiona had someone a little more her size to work with when partnering up. They worked on balance, stance, focus, co-operating, sensing and responding to partners, wooden sword skills and a variety of throws and movements. Despite a snowstorm the gasshuku was fairly well-attended. There are two sets of aikido classes in the region taught by the same two sensei, but the dojo near us is the real thing and the kids from the other program love to come out here for special events like this. At the end of the classes they played some more games like shark, spider tag and sumo, all favourites with the kids. The kids were all dragging by then with rubber legs and sore knees. The last event of the day is the belt-testing. No one was actually testing for a belt this time, but all students go through the testing for their upcoming level at every gasshuku. Fiona had decided in an advance that she wouldn't do this part, but when it came time and all the big kids were doing it she just went ahead an did what was in essence mock testing for her yellow belt. At the end everyone was presented with a certificate of participation and the group photo followed. Fiona was asleep by the time we got home in the van. A very self-satisfied sleep, though.

Aikido anniversay

It was one year ago this weekend that Fiona and Sophie officially became Aikido students. From the start I had the sense that we'd discovered a gem of an activity for us. It remained to be seen whether the kids would feel the same way.

Aikido has really grown on them and they seem very committed over the long term. They relish the challenge, the hard physical work, the regular routine, the work on focus and values, the sense of community, the fun.

Sundays are the big Aikido day for us, the double class. We shed our shoes or boots outside the Japanese-style building. The girls head into the change room where they unroll their dogis and change into them from their regular clothes. Students are discouraged from arriving in their dogis; to wear them outside the dojo is to treat the uniforms with too much casualness. The change rooms are cold so there's always a rush to get the belts tied properly and into the dojo where physical work can start warming them up.

Theoretically there is the class for young children (5 and 6-year-olds) first, then a half-hour of overlap where the 7- through 14-year-olds join, then the youngsters are dismissed and the older kids carry on for 45 minutes or so. But in reality there's a fluidity to it all. Three older siblings, including Sophie, are part of the Little Kids' Class as mentors and just to take the opportunity to get warmed up. And other Big Kids often arrive early and join in. When it's time to dismiss the younger children, three of them, including Fiona, often remain, as they're older or more experienced and enjoy the challenge that ramps up a bit during the final 45 minutes.

Watching these classes is to me like watching the martial arts equivalent of our small-town Suzuki violin classes. Various ages and levels are included. The pace varies -- large muscle crazyness, then quieter more cerebral tasks, then something collaborative, then work with partners or individually. Parents are part of it all too, as much as they like. The classes include a variety of tasks often designed to work on multiple skills, some of which are subtle and not taught explicitly, but part of the task nonetheless. The more I watch the more depth I see in the teaching. Here Sophie and her partner are doing a "mirroring exercise," learning sensitivity to anothers' movements, attentive focus, gentle touch, a kinesthetic awareness of movements and position in space, and taking turns being leaders and followers. There's routine, but also flexibility and creativity.

Aikido is non-competitive, but excellence is always a value, as are things like persistence, respect and appreciation of others' learning. Learning is organized to some extent into levels, but the emphasis is on the individual's learning, not on the pace of mastery or the benchmarks themselves. More advanced students are expected to support the learning of less advanced student and also reminded that they learn from those beginners too. There's a strong sense of belonging to a community of fellow-learners. It's very Suzuki-like ... another educational export from mid-20th-century Japan.

And of course they start and end with a bow.

Warming up at the dojo

It was the last aikido class before Christmas, the last class of 2008. The kids worked hard and had fun, most of them for the full hour and three-quarters. At the end of class Sensei spoke about his pride and gratitude in helping these students learn and in learning from them. Then each of the students spoke about what they had learned and enjoyed about aikido during the year.

Then after a last "domo arigato gozaimashita" the kids went off to get changed and have a holiday snack to celebrate. It is very cold here right now, and so the masonry woodstove in the basement had been stoked. As a special treat Sensei lifted the special mat that reveals a little trap-door hole that looks down directly over the basement stove. The kids dangled their cold feet down the toasty hole and had a lovely time.

Aikido and crochet

They play a game at aikido to work on their rolls where the kids run one at a time towards the sensei. He tosses a hackey sack towards them as they near him. The idea is that they'll catch the hackey sack in one hand and do an aikido roll over that shoulder. Then they toss the sack back to the sensei, who tosses it to the next runner. The more capable kids are encouraged to alternate sides. Less advanced kids just do whatever comes most easily, and the important thing is the roll, not whether you catch the hackey sack or not.

Fiona is doing part of the bigger kids' classes these days, and this week she got frustrated by her inability to catch the hackey sack. She really just needs someone to play toss and catch with her at home. Coincidentally that morning I had woken up and decided to try to teach myself to crochet. I had spent aikido class practicing a single crochet stitch with the only tools I had on hand -- a DK-weight wool yarn and a finicky 2.5 mm crochet hook. Kismet or something. Clearly a hackey sack was meant to materialize from my yarn and little hook.

I frogged out my practice work and went home and googled. I'm not nearly good enough at crocheting yet to follow a pattern, but I did manage to figure out increases and decreases and working in the round, which really isn't rocket science in the crochet realm. And today, with the addition of some rice and a bit of the toe of some old tights, we have a hackey sack.

Double digits

It's turning into a tradition -- birthdays in hotels. Fiona will be the only family member to be at home for her birthday this year. Sophie had her 'hotel birthday' this past weekend in Calgary. We were able to get our two favourite Calgary violin/viola teachers to join us for a restaurant dinner, and retired to their place afterwards for cake and silliness.

We got home last evening and today Sophie set off for her day-long aikido gasshuku. Two hours of class in the morning, lunch, an outdoor activity and two more hours of aikido in the afternoon, with belt-testing and the presentation of colour belts and certificates at the end.

Sophie was thrilled to be awarded her yellow belt. She earned it by attending forty-plus classes, having a positive attitude and strong skills mastery. She's been patient, hard-working and cheerful since she began as a student last February. I think she's in it for the long haul.

Enthusiasm

Fiona has enthusiasm for everything. She's not quite the youngest at aikido, though she's the smallest by a long shot. But she is just so happy to be there. She loves that the younger kids' class now overlaps with the big kids' class for half an hour or so. She gets more aikido that way, with more people and more skills and harder work. She can't wait until she is old enough to do the all-day seminars and the three-day sleep-away aikido camp.

Aikido camp report

Sophie attended the full sleep-away Aikido camp. She was eager from the first mention of the program early last spring. Noah attended as a day camper for one day, at my encouragement. Both kids enjoyed themselves immensely. And I've been so impressed with their experience ... I have to rave. Yet another stunning little secret resource in our valley. I can't believe the whole world isn't trying to move here. We have the best little multi-age intergenerational string orchestra, a dynamite student violin ensemble, a crystal clear lake with wilderness shores, mountains and glaciers all around, artistic vibrancy, community self-reliance, open-mindedness ... I'll stop now.

Back to Aikido camp. The facility is a 1600 sq.ft. strawbale dojo with living quarters of similar dimensions above. Off-grid with solar electric. The family that owns the facility lives there most of the year, but they've built the living quarters to serve as a retreat centre too, so there are bunk bedrooms that will sleep 24 and a huge open kitchen / great room with Japanese-style seating.

At camp the kids had an Aikido class to start each morning and wrap up each day's activities. Meals were vegetarian and 100% organic. The garden and the bush provided opportunities for foraging for fresh food. There was loads of creative play in the forest. The kids created and performed a play, entirely of their own volition. They journaled, drew and sketched each day. They took photos of their activities and put them together as a slide show. They cared for the dojo and the living facilities. They had mentors come to teach them about water sample testing and riparian restoration, to introduce them to aquatic insects, nematodes and micro-organisms. An art teacher took them outdoors to sketch, paint and draw. From a local naturalist they learned to identify wildflowers and herbs, and their nutritional and medicinal uses. They hiked up Mt. Gimli. They went kayaking. And they enjoyed each other's company, creativity and energy.

And all of it was carried off within an atmosphere of trust and respect for the children. Did I mention that the dojo parents are homeschooling? Though we'd never discussed our educational philosophies, after seeing them in action over the months I wasn't surprised to discover that their 8-year-old daughter is unschooled.

I have strawbale envy, though. A bad case. A music studio is taking shape in my mind.

Good day at the dojo

Sometimes Noah loves Aikido, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he even harbours fleeting regrets that he ever started it. That's because most of the Aikido students he knows seem to be committed for the long term, and he feels like he needs to be similarly committed. I remind him that a number of students have dropped off the radar. But, well, he feels like he's started it, and he would not want to give up on this pursuit that he's obviously doing well at. He feels like he ought to keep going, and when he's there, he quite enjoys it. But sometimes when it comes time to go he can think of a few other things he'd rather do.

Today he really truly loved it. He paid really close attention to all the details of instructions and demonstrations and tried extra hard to apply all his observations. He felt good about himself because he did everything almost perfectly.

I wonder if he's feeling a little more comfortable about sticking with Aikido because of experiencing how belt tests are handled. A couple of weeks ago at the spring gasshuku (seminar), a whole lot of white, yellow and orange belt kids took part in the classes, activities and routines of the day. Finally at the end of the day it was time to do belt testing.

The sensei called forward all the white belts (there were six or eight of them). They performed a number of skills and moves, as a group, repetitively, based on verbal instructions in Japanese. After four or five minutes, they were dismissed and took their seats at the back of the dojo. The half dozen yellow belts were called forward. They went through a similar, though slightly more advanced, set of skills. Finally the orange belts did their skills. Some of the kids hadn't fully learned the skills they were being asked for, or weren't sure what they were being asked to do. They were encouraged to "watch the others ... and just try something, do your best." It was all quite low-key. The two senseis sat and observed the kids quietly without comment.

When it was all over the students were all called forward one by one to receive a special participation certificate for the all-day gasshuku. Finally one last yellow belt boy was called forward. He was the only student doing belt testing this time around. None of the students had been aware of this -- they only knew that they themselves weren't doing testing. He was awarded his orange belt and a special certificate.

So there was no harsh spotlight on the student doing the testing. No one but the senseis and the student himself knew he was actually being tested. And all the other students were gaining the experience of doing the testing, but without any of the stress or worry. A 'dry run' if you will. When they are offered the opportunity to test, they'll have been through the whole experience at least once already. The rule is that you are not eligible for belt advancement until you've done at least one gasshuku as a non-testing student. These senseis doesn't seem to advance students quickly. There is only one student under 17 in their two programs (in two different towns) who is more advanced than orange belt level. From glancing at the attendance cards of the students in Noah's class, it looks like only two of them have done any belt testing this year. Belt promotions mean a lot of work and a lot of committment. They mean something big. But the testing doesn't seem to be a big deal. If I had had to design a system of grade-promotions for a children's activity, I don't think I could have come up with anything more to my liking.

Noah is no longer saying he never wants to do belt testing -- which is a significant change in his stance. And he seems to be enjoying Aikido more consistently lately.

He especially loved it today. The other thing that was different today is that one of the boys with some behaviour / attitude issues was not there. Noah is extremely sensitive to negative attitudes amongst classmates. He finds poor behaviour by other kids stressful, because he gets emotionally wrapped up in what he assumes are the hurt feelings and frustration of the instructors. He finds that the whole atmosphere feels poisoned to him. I don't know if being in school for the past 7 years would have worn down that sensitivity in him, but even though it causes him stress sometimes I'm sure glad he still has it.

Aikido laundry

Here are the kids' aikido dogis. Jackets, size 2, 1 and 00. Pants, ditto. Belts, the same.

It's spring. The outdoor laundry line is in use again. I think the kids' dogis look almost as nice on the line as their cloth diapers once did. The outdoor laundry line has a certain aesthetic to it.

I am thrilled to hear that local ordinances against such lines have been outlawed by Ontario courts. I hope all governments follow suit soon.

The dojo floor

I read a fascinating book years ago about the Japanese school system. Having grown up a Suzuki kid I knew a bit about Japanese cultural influences on education, and about some of the educational rituals. Another great source of cultural tidbits, presented especially for children, is Here and There Japan, a blog which covers many of these little school rituals and trappings. I've always been entranced by the way a sense of community responsibility is built through the expectation that students work together to clean and care for their learning space.

I'm watching this expectation being built at the kids' aikido dojo. It's a new dojo, and the sensei is fairly new to instructing children. And I think he's gradually working out how many of aikido's Japanese cultural influences can be introduced to these hippie valley kids.

There is the standard ritual of bowing to the shomen (scroll) upon entering the room, and before leaving. They all get it now, about respecting the space and the scroll and the tradition it represents. There are rules of respectful interaction that kick in inside the dojo. There's a sense that passing between the curtains means adopting a different set of social mores. For the most part the kids get that. Higher standards of behaviour apply inside the dojo.

In past weeks we've sometimes arrived early for the Thursday class and so we've helped Sensei wash down the mats. The other kids have been encouraged to join as they arrived. But this week the bucket of warm soapy water and wiping cloths was waiting for everyone and Sensei was not already hard at work washing the mats down.

"This is what you guys are responsible for from now on," explained Sensei. "This dojo is for all of you -- it's not just my dojo. If you're part of this club, you help keep it clean."

And then followed a brief but exacting lesson on proper floor washing. And the kids washed the entire immense floor in the space of about five minutes. Without a single complaint, and with an affirming sense of their own efficiency and accomplishment. And, I would wager, a stronger sense of the value of contributing simple work to one's community.

Is it really this easy? Even with our independent-minded far-from-Japanese kids? There is a lesson to be learned here for sure.

Wooden sword

It was a collaborative effort between myself and the three Aikido kids, that started with a not-quite-straight branch that had been pruned off a feral cherry tree on our property a couple of years ago. With various knives we carved away most of the excess wood, fighting with the tiny knots to create a flattish "blade" and a smoothly rounded hilt free of bark. Then we sanded and stained it.

Shown is the detail where the blade joins the hilt. The sword is strong and pretty light, and about a metre long, just right for practising shomen cuts at home.

The best part is that the kids helped with a grand tidying and vacuuming afterwards, and our living room carpet is now once again a wood-shaving and sandpaper-dust free zone.

Dogi girl

Look what arrived this week! Fiona's dogi! She sure was excited. Sophie wears a size 1, and when we ordered Fiona's she asked if she would be "size negative two." Apparently gi manufacturers don't use negative numbers for teeny sizes, though, so she got the smallest size, a double-zero.

I got a good bit of shrinkage out of a hot-water wash and dry, hemmed almost six inches up at the bottom of the pants, and then turned up 3 inches, and they just about fit. The jacket isn't quite so bad. Does she care? No way. She's just thrilled to have the uniform, especially after having to miss class last weekend due to illness.

Today my three aikido kids and I carved a wooden sword. Tomorrow they hope to finish sanding it and then apply a finish. It's a nice, if slightly wonky, piece of wood off our feral cherry tree and they are quite pleased with how it is turning out. It's strong and light and about the right size.

Also new on the aikido front this week: a book the sensei loaned us called "Aikido for Kids", well-thumbed already, and Noah's insistence that we queue up every DVD about aikido available from our DVD rental service. When the kids were unsure about joining aikido, I mentioned to the sensei "they take a while to get comfortable, but they tend to end up highly committed when they do join." I'll say!

One-bug slug game

The one-bug slug game is a short obstacle course travelled by a long train of young aikido students, each belly-to-floor and holding the ankles of the one in front. What a laughing, groaning hoot this was! They actually made it through the 'tunnel' erected for the purpose, though it took a lot of work. Fiona is thrilled to be part of her class and only wishes it were twice a week rather than just once.

She can't stop talking about aikido to everyone she meets. We spent three hours carpooling with some friends yesterday and I don't think we ever went more than ten minutes without an aikido comment popping out of Fiona's mouth.

In the older children's class, Noah's strength and agility have definitely been noticed. The sensei is tending to pair Noah up with the older orange belt boys for various skills and tasks. Both he and Sophie are working very hard and taking the whole thing very seriously. Each took possession of a dogi (uniform) after class this week and after a preshrinkage treatment (for which I was forced to use the electric dryer) they were able to model them and truly look the part. So next week they'll fit into the mass of white amongst their classmates. They're thrilled.

De-emphasizing competition

"SI" asked how we handle competition at home, and how it is handled at the aikido dojo. By way of background I should say that I'm very similar to Noah in my attitude to competition. I don't like how it makes me feel. I get anxious about doing well, but if I do well, I feel guilty for out-performing others and unworthy of whatever recognition I get. If I do badly I feel like a failure. My preferred outcome, which I do my best to engineer, is to come in at about the 75th percentile. But I'd far rather just not compete. I have strong philosophical reasons for preferring to de-emphasize competition as well, but I'll not get into those here. This post is mostly about the "how," not the "why."

At home I've strongly de-emphasized all sorts of comparisons between children. Because my kids haven't been in school, with its age-levelling and lop-sided adult-child ratio, I've been remarkably successful. My kids don't try to bolster their own feelings of worth by comparing themselves favourably with siblings or others. They don't brag about being fastest or tallest or smartest or best. They are what they are, and they get satisfaction from, and brag about their own work and progress within themselves.

That's not to say that we never race, or compete, or compare. Games and challenges are fun. But it's always the game, and not the end result, that is the focus. To give an example, if I were to sit down and play Snakes & Ladders with Fiona, we'd start out rolling the dice and moving. If the game got lop-sided we'd laugh over how far ahead one of us was. I might quip "hey, this is no good ... look how far ahead I am! If my next roll is good, I'll give it to you." And I'd do that a couple of times. And then once one of us won a close race to the finish, I'd say "Aw, too bad, game's over. Hey, I know! How about we both play for me until my guy finishes too?" And then "yay, we did it!"

When we're at the gym playing badminton, we just rally. If there's not enough challenge for someone, we'll play two on one, or one of us will "play mean" for a bit which means trying to play so that the other person misses -- always resulting in big laughs. If we play two on two, we'll reshuffle the teams over and over, and if someone is clearly a much stronger player, we'll play two or three or four on one. Play can get really aggressive and exhausting, but we never keep score, because what would that add? We're having fun and working hard, improving our skills without it.

Violin group class is a place where competitiveness could very easily arise, since it's comprised of 14 students learning the same repertoire in the same order over the long-term (much like kids work through the same colour-belt levels in martial arts). But we consistently de-emphasize comparative language, and specifically encourage supportive feelings and comments. For instance, we never ask the students to share what their most advanced piece is. Instead they're encouraged to share what basic technique they're refining ("who has been working on bow direction in your lessons recently" will result in hands of kids from age 5 to 15, Books 1 to 10 going up). More advanced students are encouraged to learn from less advanced students, for instance by commenting positively on notable facets of a beginner's performance. Students are encouraged to focus not on speed of advancement through the repertoire, but on continually refining basic form and sound. Advancement through repertoire is the side benefit of refinement of technique, form and sound. In lessons students will often hear comments like "Remember, you're trying to learn to play the violin more and more beautifully, not to play 'Gavotte in g minor'. Learning this piece is just one of the steps that will help you develop your musical skills."

The approach at aikido seems very consistent with this. Students at various levels are in the same class and are learning from each other -- less advanced from more advanced, and vice versa. When a beginner is paired up with an orange belt for some technique, the children say to each other (in Japanese) "please help me learn." Of course the students are at different levels, and no one is pretending otherwise, but it's clear that everyone has things they can learn from everyone.

Some nuts and bolts examples. When they play tag as a warm-up, it's a cumulative freeze-tag version, with the frozen players helping the person who is "the shark" catch the remainder. When everyone is frozen, a new shark is chosen and play resumes. It very fun and a good challenge for all levels, but there's no winner and no score, and those who are tagged early still have a role to play in the game -- they're not "out."

When they do a race, they create relay teams, and the teams are totally arbitrary, and often unbalanced. The idea is to have fun by working together for a fast speed, and the kids are motivated and fast. They run their legs off! But if one team is clearly way ahead, the sensei will yell out "okay, Ryan's gotta do three laps instead of two -- one more lap Ryan!" And when the final runners come in, there's no victory dance, just a casual "okay that time Team 2 got it" followed by a quick reshuffling of the teams for another similar race with some slight variation.

When they play one-on-one games, like a neat sumo-ish game that's popular with the kids, the pairings are often lop-sided and some players will be handicapped (via directions from the sensei that seem casual and arbitrary, but I suspect are far from it) for certain matches by being asked to use only one arm, or no arms. I think that the sensei is ensuring through these pairings that all kids win and lose with regularity. The players must thank each other for the match, and there is no chance to gloat over a victory because the focus will already have moved on to something else by the time the thank-you has occurred.

The values and principles that run throughout these different activities are similar. Comparative language is strongly discouraged. Game play is the focus, with the winning or losing being beside the point. Reshuffling of teams and opponents and the frequent use of handicaps, flexible/shifting rules and collaborative play prevents kids from getting attached to outcomes and keeps the focus on the fun of the game. Scores and ranks are not kept track of. Situations where one student is repeatedly left out or defeated are avoided -- games being engineered so that all children have regular experience with both winning and losing and come to understand that this sort of 'success' or 'failure' is pretty meaningless. And focus is instead put on respect, responsibility, dedicated effort and mutual support.

The gym mats

To me one facet of simplifying making do with reclaimed, recycled and jerry-rigged stuff rather than purchasing new things. But another facet is decluttering. Which creates a bit of a dilemma when I'm working at the local public school at the end of August cleaning up after the music school weeks and sitting in the lobby, waiting to be picked up to go to the landfill are two ratty-looking gym mats.

I knew that if I brought home two ratty-looking gym mats they were likely to be clutter 95% of the time. What to do?

I took them home. They filled the living room floor for about a week and then went up to the loft, our storage area, where they helped cushion knees as we crawled around under the low ceiling. Mostly they just sat there looking awful, but thankfully nobody saw them much. (The photo shows them upside-down, with their firm, but relatively un-ratty sides facing upwards. Trust me, the more cushiony right sides are UGLY.)

After aikido today, the mats came down from the loft. Since the living part of our house is concrete slab floors with just a thin layer of no-underlay grotty carpet, no one would want to go ka-thunk-flop on them as-is. All day the three younger kids have been busily practicing aikido on the mats. They are thrilled to have them. They've been working like crazy on their rolls, helping each other, coaching Fiona, refining their skills, and the mats have made all the difference.

It was a lucky break and a good call, freecycling those mats last summer.

The aikido trio

We went early to Aikido today, because Fiona had sussed out a little kids' class that happened on Sundays before the bigger kids' class. She was able to watch for about 4 and a half minutes and then she just wanted to be out there doing stuff. I went home with yet another registration form. She loved it.

Sophie and Noah both did very well and enjoyed themselves a lot. They were extremely focused, which is something the rest of the class is working on. Sophie commented afterwards that it's good to have at least two people in your family doing Aikido, so that you can practice the attack/defence movements at home with a partner. Noah said he likes how much thinking there is in Aikido. They both seem to be learning a lot about how they learn and where their strengths and comfort zones lie. I am particularly enamoured of how competitiveness is handled by the two sensei; it seems totally consistent with what we do at home.

Aikido II

Last week's colds got in the way of another trip to observe Aikido classes. We finally made it today. Noah, Sophie and Fiona came along. One of the kids got Noah and Sophie involved in a game of tag before class started. Good start. There were only five kids in the class and the sensei came over and asked Noah and Sophie to help out, especially with the games, since they were missing a few bodies. They agreed.

They stayed in for the whole class, introduced themselves, counted aloud to five in Japanese during the warmup, participated all the way through and gave everything they had in the games and relays.

Fiona had a few sobs in the middle because I told her she was too young to be in the class. I promised to ask if there were classes for littler kids and she settled. I didn't have much hope but it turns out there is a young kids' class on Sundays, right before the regular kids' class. It has just three students, but it's going. I guess we'll take her in time to watch this week.

I brought home registration forms. Looks like we're in. The kids really enjoyed themselves. I'm so glad I pushed past the hump.

Push-me pull-you

For a long time I've been muttering to Noah that I thought he'd be a great candidate for a martial arts program. He has such physical intuitiveness, such an amazing sense of his own body, yet doesn't enjoy team or competitive sports. He's also easily intimidated by the physical energy of fellow human beings when he doesn't trust their impulse control and social skills. He's not physically fearful in the least (as witnessed by his tree-climbing, rope-wrangling adventurousness) but he's easily intimidated by the physical assertiveness of other people. Children especially. So sports have been a hard sell with him. While we try to stay active through unstructured pursuits, there are long stretches of the spring and fall where the kind of exercise that lends a healthy balance to our lives is hard to come by.

Noah does have a bit of an interest in things Japanese, and in martial arts, by way of his contact with computer-gaming. And he would benefit from a physical outlet -- especially something scheduled into his week -- since the computer tends to suck all his time and energy otherwise.

So I dropped a few teasers over the months and years. "You'd be great at martial arts, Noah. We should try to find you something." These were wistful teasers. It seemed unlikely there would be a suitable program anywhere near us. I knew there was an amazing aikido dojo in Nelson, but Noah hates travelling to Nelson no matter the reason. That was out, for sure.

But imagine my surprise to hear a couple of years ago that there was an offshoot of the Nelson dojo being built outside a little village of 700 half an hour south of us. I filed that little tidbit away for future reference.

A couple of months ago I watched Noah having fun with Sophie on the far side of midnight one night playing an invented bizarre combat art he termed Yoga Boxing, leaping around on one leg in the "Tree" yoga position attacking Sophie and having an absolute hoot. His balance, strength and precision were amazing. I thought to myself this kid has to get involved in a martial art. I decided to start investigating that new aikido dojo.

I was sold, but with Noah it was quite a different matter. He hates trying new things; expectations he doesn't fully understand make him anxious, as does the possibility that he won't excel at something the first time out. Normally when I nudge Noah into something, I have to do it in a way that is calculated to help him over the hump of his initial resistance. I thought that he and I were getting much better at reading and understanding each other's signals. But my goodness, I've been totally confused this time around.

A few weeks ago I got in touch with the people at the nearby dojo and found out that they were running youth classes. I was told we were welcome to drop in to observe. I planted a seed with Noah (and Sophie who is also in the age-group for the youth classes). I told them we'd go and check it out sometime. Noah's response was somewhat resistant, but I knew that was coming from his anxiety over trying new things. There was a glimmer of interest too. The mixed signals were starting.

I'm used to his ambivalent signals, though, so I let things go until after the Calgary trip and then told him one morning that we'd be going to check it out in three days' time. No argument, but no enthusiasm. Just the mute signs of anxiety over something new. Then, that morning, I reminded him that this was the day, and that there were no expectations, we'd just go and watch. When it was time to leave, I gave him his marching orders. "Time to go. Come on. We're going to check it out. You don't have to do anything, but you do have to come."

He came along uncomplainingly, though it was clear he wasn't exactly joyfully looking forward to it. Silent dread might have been one way of describing it. But dread and curious excitement at the same time. On the way down we chatted about what it might be like, and it was apparent he knew a fair bit about martial arts -- certainly more than I did, though I shared what I'd learned about aikido by my reading and research. I also explained that I was pushing him into checking things out because I recognized that he often enjoyed things after he'd got over the hump of his initial resistance -- and that as his mom I wasn't always sure when I should push and when I should back off, but I'd decided a small push was likely worthwhile with this activity. We went, we found the place, we felt a bit awkward introducing ourselves, but were able to watch in a low-key way. When the class was over, Noah told the sensei that he thought he might like to join, and he asked to stay to watch a bit of the adult class that followed. When we left the dojo half an hour later he told me "yeah, I think I might go for it." He mentioned finding the behaviour of one or two of the boys a little intimidating, but thought he still might like to join the class. That sounded pretty positive. I felt vindicated in my pushing. We'd both loved the facility and found the sensei very likeable and competent. We came home with a good feeling about it.

However a day later he I asked him how he felt about it and he said he didn't think he'd join. Over the next two days he became even more negative and resistant. Now what? He'd been initially interested, though anxious, yet when I'd got him there he'd decided he'd liked it. But now he'd flip-flopped and was pulling against my pushing.

As the next class loomed, I spent a lot of time and energy reflecting on what to do. In the depths of last night I decided to push him to come to class today and once again see how he felt when it was over. It seemed like anticipatory anxiety was the problem and once he'd worked through it things were good. I figured that he'd need a smaller push the second time and so I decided I was willing to push.

But when it came time to go today, he notched his resistance up an order of magnitude. I felt awful, but I played the parental authority figure. "I think this is good for you, and I don't care what you're saying right now -- you seem to have yes feelings and no feelings all at the same time, and I'm telling you we're going to watch another class to give you a chance to sort those feelings out." It was a pretty dramatic scene; he definitely didn't want to go. He finally got into the van, overflowing with tears and protests. I felt terrible. It was a very silent minivan that headed south towards the dojo.

About half way there he let out a big sigh and then started to join in on conversation with Sophie, Fiona and me. He'd resigned himself to going, finally. When we got there the place felt familiar to us and he was welcomed with a cheerful "Hey, Noah!" by the sensei. We settled in to watch. And as I watched him observe the class it became apparent that he was enjoying himself. Wonder of wonders.

This time when we left, I asked him if he felt any better about things, if his feelings about aikido had changed from before the class. He nodded, smiled, and said "I think I'll come next time and when he asks if I'll join in for tag I will, and the next time after that I'll probably really join."

Sheesh. I hope the sense of vindication I now feel is more than temporary this time. We as good as shook on it today -- we'll go and watch next Thursday's class, and then he'll probably join. Agreed.

Did I do the right thing? I don't know. Noah has a habit of teetering on the brink of decisions that somewhere deep inside himself he really wants to make, working himself up to such a state of anxiety and resistance and eventually paralysis that he's less and less able to take the plunge. An early push reduces the duration of his anxiety and prevents him sliding into a state of paralysis. After being told in no uncertain terms that he must take the leap, he usually feels good about himself. It's just getting him over the hump at the start that's so tough. And really, it's been years since he's tried anything new; I suppose my patience at letting him find his own readiness was wearing thin. I've seen patience become counter-productive (and pushes result in big payoff!) with Noah before. I've never ever pushed as hard as I did today, though. It felt awful even though my instincts were telling me it was the right thing to do.