The Three Wiseass Monkeys

Over the past few weeks, I have been writing blog entries primarily regarding my last couple months in Japan. Though I do have a few more of these tales yet to tell, I have not been idol in the meanwhile. I have continued my training here at home with renewed vigor. It is about this training, then, that I would like to devote the next three posts.



Several months ago I posted an entry about the Three Wise Monkeys. This is a famous symbol in Japan used during the Tokugawa Shogunate to represent the proper way to live: hear not, see not, and speak not. Some have given the ancient phrase a more modern interpretation: hear no evil, see no evil, and speak no evil. In 17th century Japan, however, these were maxims by which a samurai lived his life.




This age-old symbol was given a new meaning today as I was training with my father and our Sensei, Dave Mata, at the Grand Rapids Kyoseikan dojo. Due to the fact this was a day-class, when many people are working, it was just the three of us. My father, who began training in Aikido at the age of 67—who says you can’t teach an old dog knew tricks—is legally deaf. He usually doesn’t wear his hearing aids during class for fear of damaging them. Mata Sensei, on the other hand, claims to find verbally explaining techniques to be very difficult. As for me… well, I’m just blind.



So here you have a deaf monkey, a blind monkey, and a monkey who can’t explain what he’s doing; how do they work together? After spending several minutes trying to describe his movements while taking ukemi—safely falling—Mata Sensei suggested a very intuitive strategy for the three of us. While Sensei slowly moved through a fall, he asked my father to explain, in his own words, how it looked. Does this sound simple? Try to explain, in detail, the position of your body as you climb the stairs or even move from standing to sitting in a chair. Are your hips forward or back? How is your balance distributed over your feet; is your weight forward or back? These motions, which we take for granted, are very difficult to explain when moving slowly. Sensei, who has been “learning how to fall” for over fifteen years, does it without thinking. I myself have been training in Aikido for nine years and the falls have always been something I enjoyed. My father, though, has only been training for a year. These movements are not yet ingrained so deeply in his muscle memory.



Ukemi—falling—is not a simple, once you’ve learned it you’re finished, process. AS you age and your body accrues injuries and stiffness, ukemi is something you must develop and think about. The intent of this entry, however, is not to focus on a discussion of ukemi but rather on this interesting style of teaching. I believe Mata Sensei’s casual suggestion touches upon a very important piece of teaching methodology for the blind or visually impaired. I believe it can also serve equally well for sighted people both beginners and advanced, if for a slightly different reason.
Each person “sees” the world slightly differently. I realized this in particular when visiting an art museum with two friends in Japan. Each of my friends would describe the same painting, but using completely different words. While one friend spoke of the emotions she felt while looking at the image, the other friend talked in more detail about the specific techniques used to create the image. Though each person described the same picture, for me it was as though I had viewed two separate paintings: one a moving, emotional picture while the other was more detailed and graphic. Similarly, the same technique or, in this case, ukemi described by two separate people can touch upon details that one person alone might have missed. A concrete example from today’s class occurred when my father mention the way Sensei turned his hips to keep balance while falling forward into a front ukemi. While Mata Sensei had described to me how he kept weight back and lowered his knee as close to the ground as possible before shifting forward, turning his hips was something he had done without realizing. Again, I am not trying to teach ukemi with this post. I am only discussing a strategy for teaching.
Similarly, this same process of describing a technique can apply for sighted people as well, but the other way around. Especially when first learning, talking your way through an action may help you to more fully understand what it is you are doing. If anything, it may help you become a better teacher in the long run as it helps you to continuously think about your movements. Sometimes, talking yourself through may help you find the point you are missing. It really helps to bring a more conscious awareness to the activity you are performing.




The three little monkeys finally all fell successfully off the bed and landed safely on the tatami. Mata Sensei is, in the end, a very skilled instructor. I would not return to his dojo each time I am in G.R. if I did not feel I could learn from him. Sensei is constantly seeking to become a better teacher—a better “sensei—and this is more valuable than knowing how to describe each technique in detail. It is more important because, after all, each person learns differently. Mata Sensei seeks ways to adjust his instruction for his students.

You Look Tired; Why Don't You Sit down?

My third partner for randori today seemed not to understand or, possibly, not to remember that I am blind. He grabbed me roughly by the sleeve to drag me across the room to an open space where we could fight. He attacked me very aggressively—which I enjoy—but when he threw me he would stand and wait, expecting me to somehow find him amongst the confusion of fighting pairs of judoka. In a word, he seemed reluctant to play me. As I stood up to continue our randori, the kid came in fast and immediately started fighting for a controlling grip on my sleeves. I pushed him backwards a few paces and, finally, caught him with kosotogari, putting my foot behind his leg as he stepped backwards and pushing him off balance. The kid toppled hard… right into a row of folding metal chairs.
The noise his fall made was nothing short of cacophonous and drew the eye of every person in the room. For someone who was already uninterested in fighting me, having a blind foreigner throw him into a row of seats was probably not his cup of green tea. AS he frog-marched me back across the room I really doubted I would have another chance to play judo… not just with him, but with anyone.



It has been too long since I last updated the blog. As this little glimpse into my Daly randori may indicate, however, I am still struggling to find acceptance in the men’s dojo. Every day I go to training, hoping to fight as much as possible. At the beginning of every round I walk into the center of the dojo and wait for a partner…. And, inevitably, the space around me fills up while I remain an isolated island. I realized last week that, on the few occasions that a Japanese Judoka comes to play with me, it is only because the sensei has pointed at the judoka and then at me, a silent order that he *must* play with me.
Though I appreciate the efforts that Koshino Sensei—the sensei in charge of the men’s dojo—is making, let me put the situation into perspective. People *only* play with me as they are obligated. When I walk to the center of the room and stand, hoping for a partner, people pass me by as though I were not even there. It is the most humiliating feeling, to know you will never be taken seriously no matter how hard you work or how skilled you might become. It is no wonder the Japanese have such a high suicide rate; no other culture I have ever before seen is as skilled as the Japanese at isolating and outcasting individuals. I am safe in the knowledge that, at the end of this program, I can return to my own country where I have friends and people respect the efforts I am making. Imagine what it must be like for Japanese who feel as I do… but have no home to return to.



When I train with the women, I am never short of partners. I realized last week, however, that one girl has been put in charge of doing drills and uchikomi with me. Perhaps my mistrust of Japanese people has infected me too deeply, but I can’t help but wonder…. Is this girl only working with me because she is obligated? Does she take me seriously, or is this an unpleasant chore that must be done? For the most part, the girls do treat me as an equal; but I must squish my pride down into a corner of my ego every time I play with the girls because the boys won’t accept me. I hold women’s judo in the highest regard and I do not mean this as a sign of disrespect, but I think most men would feel somewhat uncomfortable in a similar situation. But pride is something I’ve had kicked around quite a lot and I’m interested in learning Judo at any cost, so I’ll continue playing with the girls if that is what it will take.


I do not like to harp on the negative of Japan, especially in a blog such as this, but honesty is more important in this case and I have shown Japan every respect. I keep my sanity because I am surrounded by foreigners, sighted foreigners none the less, who are treated little better. I will try to continue this blog as before, focusing on aspects of learning judo, Aikido and whatever other martial art might come up. Every now and then, though, I must also update readers on the actual situation and experience I am living.

Speech at Applied Psychology Seminar; Nagano

On September 11th, I was invited to a seminar in Nagano, Japan, to speak about my reasons for studying the martial arts. Though the seminar covered various topics over the course of the weekend, Sunday was devoted to the topic of "disability sports". Since I am a foreigner with a disability who has altered the course of his life to pursue the practice of Budo, Kokushikan's Nakajima Sensei invited me to give a short talk. Below I have included my speech in both Japanese and English. My Japanese is by no means fluent, so there are some errors both with kanji and grammar.



はじめまして、
フクストラ、ニコラスと申します　今日は、自分の武道、合気道や柔道などを
しているわけについて話したいとおもっております。先に、ちょっと自己紹介をいたします。


七歳のころに、激しい頭痛がはじまって、大変な病気にかかりました。お医者さんたちは、いろいろな検査をしましたが、４ヶ月間原因を見つけられませんでした。やっと、視神経の後ろに、脳腫瘍が探し出されました。
三箇所の外科的手術が、私のいのちを助けました。
けれども、視神経は、大変傷つけられました。
三回目の外科的手術をうけてから、みえなくなりました。

とつぜん、人生が切り替わりました。すべてのことのやりかたがまたならわなければなりませんでした。点字の読み方から杖のあるきかたまで、
ゼロからはじめなければなりませんでした。
その上、薬のために、体がむくみ、病院に入院したときには、
体がすっかり弱くなって、自信がなくなりました。体の健康とメンタルは、強い関係があります。だから、高校に入ってから、
スポーツをはじめたかったです。

もともと、高校の四年間、レスリングをしました。けれども、大学に入ると、
授業で、すごく忙しくなりました。レスリングのような大変なぶかつをできませんでした。でも、スポツを鈴木たかったです。

大学の一年生に、初めて合気道をやってみました。そのときから、ずっと武道をしています。３年前、日本にきてから、柔道もはじめました。


武道をやっている理由がたくさんあります。ひとつは、私は、武道によって、自信をとりもどすことができました。
合気道や柔道をやっているときには、、障害を持っているかどうか、関係がありません。だれでも、強い点と弱い点があります。武道では、自分の強いところを使って、自分の弱いところをつよくしていくことができます。
資格を使わないのに、ほかの４巻によっております。とくに、触覚が大切です。
合気道のばいは、相手が、受身まで案内します。柔道のばいは、相手の動きを感じて、投げます。

ほかの武道をやっている理由は、もともと、合気道を始めたときには、皆と一緒に上手になっている目的がありました。二人で、技を発展しました。柔道では、やっぱり、だれかがかって、だれかが、まけます。けれども、私は受動を始めた北九州の同情では、お互いにてつだって、いい技を造りました。

この二つの理由では、武道をやっております。自分の自信をとりもどすことと、一緒で上手になる目的は、とてもたいせつでした。

ありがとうございました。

Good morning;

My name is Nicholas Hoekstra. Today, I’d like to speak about the reasons I am doing budo; Aikido and Judo. But first, let me introduce myself.

I am from Michigan in the United States. I’m 27 years old. Twenty years ago, at the age of seven, I began to have migraines and became seriously ill. Though doctors performed several tests, four months passed without the source of my migraines being discovered. Finally, a tumor was found behind my optic nerves. Three surgeries saved my life, but my optic nerves were already seriously damaged. From the time of the third surgery I was left completely blind.

My entire life changed in an instant. I had to learn ways of doing everything; from learning to read Braille to learning how to walk with a cane, I had to begin from zero. On top of this, medicines had left me very overweight and the time spent in the hospital had left my body very weak. My self confidence was gone. Both mental and physical health are closely connected, however, and when I entered high school I wanted to begin playing sports.

Originally, I wrestled during the four years of high school. However, when I entered University I became very busy with classes. I could not continue with a sport as demanding as wrestling. I wanted to continue doing something, though.
In my freshman year of University I tried Aikido for the first time. Since then, I have not stopped practicing budo. Three years ago, when I came to Japan, I also began practicing Judo.

There are many reasons to practice budo. For one, in my case, through the practice of budo I was able to rebuild my self esteem. When you do Aikido or Judo it does not matter whether or not you have a perceived disability. Every person has their strong points and their weak points. One is able to use their strength to fortify and improve upon their weaknesses. Although I am unable to see, I depend upon my other four senses. In the case of budo, the sense of touch is especially important. In Aikido, one guides their partner to take a fall. In the case of Judo, one feels the movements of their partner and attempts a throw.

Another reason for which I do budo is that, when I first started Aikido, the purpose of training was that everyone work together to improve their skills. Two people together work to perform a technique. In the case of Judo, of course someone wins and someone loses. However, in the Kitakyushu dojo where I first began training Judo, people helped each other to make better throws.

For these two reasons I practice budo: for the purpose of building my self confidence and the fact that people work together to develop better skills.

Thank you very much.

Oops, Sorry About That

Have no fear, I have neither forgotten nor abandoned these tales of the Iron Goat. I developed a social life about the same time the university semester was ending and I found myself rather occupied during a three week stretch. Though the social life thankfully remains, I have more stories to tell!


I am currently on vacation in the United States and will be returning to Japan on Thursday the 18th. I've been taking advantage of my summer vacation, however, to practice a little Judo, Aikido and Jujitsu. Pretty much what I do every other day of the year.


It is, of course, always interesting to return from Japan and train in American dojos. For one thing, people speak English... there's a surprise. What is facinating, though, are the differences in teaching methodology. I jokingly said to a friend, "I'm going to take advantage of my vacation to learn Judo..." which may seem strange as I am studdying Judo full-time in Japan.
Sadly, there was some truth to my statement. No one can deny that the Japanese train hard. On a typical day in judo bukatsu I may do anywhere from one to three hours of randori. In Aikido, we will do ten to fifteen techniques over the course of two hours. In dojos in the states, however, much more time is dedicated to learning and reviewing throws in Judo and, in Aikido, I often see a smaller number of techniques demonstrated but with a greater stress on the relation in the movements between techniques.
This is not to say that American dojos are better or worse. In the U.S. I do not feel like I have enough of a work-out during class. In Japan, on the other hand, I do not feel I've learned much during training. And in these two sentences I have written, without consciously intending to, the real difference: Japan has "training" whereas American dojos have "classes".


Though this is not a hard and fast rule--there are always differences from dojo to dojo--this has always been my experience. I can state very firmly and very infatically that dojos in the States are better in one aspect: working with people's with disabilities. During every class I have attended in the past two weeks, someone has stood next to me while the sensei demonstrated a technique or throw. That person, without my asking, has shown or told me in as much detail as possible the key points the sensei was trying to make. In Japan, someone must show me what the sensei has demonstrated after the sensei has finished. It becomes that person's sole responsibility to both remember everything the sensei has shown as well as teach it to me.
This subject is of particular importance, obviously, because I'm blind and have to learn martial arts in a specialized way. I do not feel this means I must go to a special dojo, however. I have been invited to speak at a seminar in September in Japan about this very topic: disability sports. I've been thinking a lot recently about how I learn because that is what I'm going to be asked. The other interesting twist is the fact I'm not only a person with a visual impairment trying to learn Judo in Japan... I'm a westerner who is accustomed to a western teaching style trying to learn Judo in Japan. I have much to think about.


Over the course of the last week I've been taking a lot of videos and photos and I'll have some great stuff to put up shortly on the blog. May the training continue--

restling

     Over the years, I have been approached by the parents of several blind children who have asked me my advice on raising a child with a visual impairment.  I have always stressed one theme above all others:

   Get Your Blind Child Involved in Sports

    I sincerely believe that wrestling changed my life more fundamentally than any of the other incredible, once-in-a-lifetime experiences that I have undertaken.  It was a result of the combined influences of my coaches, teammates and even opponents and there is no reason my experience should remain an isolated one.

     There are several reasons for which I emphasize the role of sports in a blind child’s development.  On the most basic level, blind children are frequently over-protected and this, unfortunately, results in a lack of exercise.  Too often, parents would prefer to keep their visually impaired son or daughter safe at home rather than outside running around where they might trip and fall.  A few bumps and bruises--even a broken bone--are important hallmarks of a normal childhood.  Even more important than the exercise, however, is the socialization which sports provide.  While there are clubs and groups, such as Go Ball, for blind children to play with one another, I stress again and again the need for blind children to interact with their sighted peers.  This not only helps to integrate the child into a more realistic world, it exposes sighted children to a different way of life. 

     Yes, a blind player will have a slight disadvantage.  Like it or not, a visual impairment is somewhat of a setback.  The sooner a child is introduced into such situations, though, the sooner they will learn to adapt and find their own solutions to problems of inequality. 

     Wrestling was crucial in my life because it gave me both self-confidence and a strong, supportive team.  The illness I suffered as a child left me very over-weight.  Some of the medicines I had taken included steroids, while the months of hospitalization and bed rest left little room for physical activity.  On top of this, classmates I had known in first and second grade were unsure how to deal with my blindness when I finally returned to my home district.  I felt both ugly and isolated. 

     In my first season on the wrestling team, I lost around 20lbs.  There is nothing so self-affirming for a young man than the loss of weight and toning of muscle.  Furthermore, I now had a hobby, something to do in the evenings besides homework and television. 

     As the season progressed and teammates watched me endure the same strenuous practices as they themselves were, they began to view me less as a person with a disability and more as a fellow wrestler.  This change was both subtle and highly significant, as I had found it very difficult to relate to my classmates.  No one ever asked me to hang out on the weekends my freshman year of high school.  It wasn’t until I joined the wrestling team that I began to go out and spend time with people from school. 

      No discourse on wrestling could be complete without mentioning the important role coaches play in the lives of young athletes.  This was especially acute in my case.  My high school wrestling coach was one of the first people to demand more from me than I believed I could give.  He refused to accept excuses and taught me that I shouldn’t accept them either.  Something I carry with me to this day is my coach’s admonition that people with disabilities have to help themselves because, sometimes, no one else will. 

[This has been a loose translation of my coach’s rough way of speaking; his actual words went more along the lines of, “Nick, life screwed you.  Go do something about it.”] 

      It’s difficult to understand these words out of context.  My coach was speaking to a young man much more timid and self- defeatist than the adult who is now writing this blog.  In a nutshell: I have every bit as much right to play on the monkey-bars as you do.