Through the Eyes of a Green Belt

Do you remember your first tournament? The first one I attended was big enough that it was conducted in two gyms at the same time. In 1983, that was also big enough for “Karate Illustrated” magazine to rate this event as the tournament flier pointed out. Anyway, I was in awe. There were ninjas, American Freestyle Karate folks, taekwondo athletes, kung fu practitioners, and some karate traditionalists like me (at the time). I had been promoted once, maybe twice by then, and I remember competing with the first kata I ever learned. As loaded as that ring was with competitors, I just felt glad to be there. Most everyone did the same form, and so it was easy to see how I stacked up, even before the winners were announced. 

I did the best I could, and although I didn’t earn a trophy that day, I won some important perspective:  any tournament smaller than this one might grant me a better chance to further develop my skills under pressure. When you scaffold your learning path, it’s important to start on the right step after all. I had jumped into the “deep end of the pool” with my first tournament.

The next year yielded more opportunities to compete on a local level with martial artists from all over my home state. Where there had been many martial arts represented at my first tournament, the local ones were mostly represented by karateka. The styles included Shito-Ryu, Shorin-Ryu, Shorei-Ryu, and Kong Soo Do (a spin-off of Shotokan Karate developed by the Ji Do Kwon Association in South Korea in early 1946). Although I loved competing in kata divisions, I still had a long way to go in terms of developing my technique. For that matter, I still do today, and so is the journey of the lifelong learner, right? Anyhow, before I earned my first medal, I felt much better about the form I was working on at that time. It was the third kata I had learned, and it was quite different from the first two. I especially liked the fact that it had some front snap kicks in it. When the winners were announced, I still hadn’t placed in the top three. 

The top three competitors were junior to me in grade, and they performed what was considered the first intermediate form in the style I studied back then. Despite the “cool” kicks I thought I had, these fellows had started learning a form above my own, and were demonstrating more competency. They had clearly spent more time on that one form than I had on my first three combined. Yet, I was dismayed and missing the greater importance of competing.  Well, such was the mind of a 13-year-old boy weighing all of 115 pounds.

I remember going to see my sensei about it next week at class. He asked me which style and school they represented. I could remember neither, and so I tried to describe their patch as best I could, but to no avail. Later, I would learn it was a Shorin-Ryu patch.  Really, none of that mattered to me, though. To my narrow mind, I was surprised that the other kids competed with different [read higher level] forms than I did, and I implied that it wasn’t fair.  My sensei set me straight right away, though.  His bottom line message was essentially: Welcome to competition, young man. So, I went back on the floor to work harder at what I was being taught.  Another kyu promotion came later, and I learned my first, intermediate form.  I loved it then, and I still love it today. Wouldn’t you know it?  It’s my mom’s favorite kata, too.

At my next local tournament, though, I had to move up to the intermediate level for competition. That put me in the ring with 7th through 5th kyus. I don’t remember the other karate styles represented in that ring on this occasion.  However, I did place second in kata that day, with a senior grade taking third. Once again, I was stunned.  How could this be?  My seniors know more than I do, and their forms were more advanced than mine after all. 

I approached one of my ring judges, who was a 4th-degree black belt in Shorin-Ryu at the time, and I presented the crux of my confusion to him. He just smiled and said something like: Clayton, as judges, we look for consistency in technique [among many other things] and take into consideration the individual’s trajectory in the journey of learning.  It wouldn’t be fair to expect you to perform as a green belt or even a senior blue belt if that’s not what you are at this point. I was neither of those.

Still, the renshi’s words were very encouraging, and although there was no guarantee every tournament judge would see it the same way, I was on my way to learning about control.  I’m not necessarily talking about control in terms of sparring either. Rather, I’m speaking about being able to manage those things that are within your sphere of control as a person at that time. It comes down to words that Hanshi Don Roberts often uses from the late Arthur Ash: start where you are; use what you have, and do the best that you can. By the time I reached 5th kyu, I would be back at another large, regional tournament, and this time, it would be out of state.

As we made final preparations for an upcoming tournament in Powell, Tennessee, my instructor looked at my empty hand form toward the end of class.  I remember him saying, “if they don’t like that, then they don’t like hot dogs.” My first instructor could be funny sometimes. It was encouraging, and being a relatively new green belt at this point, I was excited about testing my abilities with my third intermediate kata.  I really enjoyed practicing this one too; it had Crescent Kicks, Circle Punches, and Elbow Strikes.  As well as competing in Sparring, I took the plunge into Weapons Kata competition too.

The gym was packed with competitors from all over. There were many karate styles represented. There were some kung fu and taekwondo competitors too. The heaviest presence that day was made by Isshinryu Karate, though. I had never seen their gigantic Mizugami patches before, and the sense of fellowship between the respective schools was powerful.  Not long after my team came through the door, the first fellow I was introduced to was a very kind gentleman in a gold t-shirt, emblazoned with the Mizugami, wearing blue jeans, and a warm smile.  His fists looked like two sledgehammers, though.  I was told, “This is Mr. Allen Wheeler, 8th degree black belt.” After a deep bow, I thought 1984 was supposed to be full of literary mystique and perhaps some political intrigue, but meeting an 8th-degree black belt had never entered my teenage mind. Nevertheless, there he was, and we were at his tournament.

We found a corner near the bleachers to stash our gear. I bought my first bokken from the equipment vendor up front, and so I set it next to my bo. Then, we turned to take in the entire scene.  Mr. Wheeler asked all the represented schools to line up to see which brought the most students. It was clear to see that Mr. Bohan had the biggest turnout, and his father (who I was told had been a non-commissioned officer in the Marines) must have been proud. I heard his dad’s booming voice and saw his white/red paneled belt as he walked over to encourage a little child competitor. I had never seen a karate master’s belt before, and so when I asked what the “candy stripe” belt meant, one of my seniors had to quietly enlighten me. 

I don’t remember how I felt after doing my empty hand kata that day. I do remember the blue belt who put a clean side kick into my chest that reminded me (the hard way) to keep my guard up. I also remember earning a consistently average score with my bo kata.  More than that, though, I recall meeting a giant 4th-degree black belt named Mr. Don Roberts.  As small as I was back then, I think I was eye level with his obi at best. It was well worn and full of kanji that I could not read. The energy that came out of his eyes was very distinct, though; he had the “1,000-yard stare” even though I didn’t know what to call it yet. Nonetheless, like his instructor, Mr. Wheeler, he was kind, and most certainly so was his wife. Although this was the first, it would not be the last time I saw either of them, fortunately. 

I got to watch Mr. and Mrs. Roberts compete, learn from them as my future judges while I competed, and learn even more when I got the chance to take classes from them. Years later, after becoming a first-degree black belt, my first job as a corner judge in a tournament was with none other than Mr. Roberts as the center referee. I felt about as confident scoring kyu grade students in kata competition that day as I felt the first time I ever stood in the ring myself as a competitor. Mr. Roberts could see that, too, and he was a very patient mentor to me. He still is…34 years after I first served as a corner judge for him. The most important victory thus far in my 38-year journey has not been a trophy or title, though. 

I’ve given most of my trophies and medals away. Instead, the consistent win has come through growth as a lifelong learner, and while one can discover some things alone, there are significant leaps to be made through collaborative learning. This is where great human beings “factor into the equation” so-to-speak.

New acquaintances become friends. Those who become close friends, who eventually become family or Ohana, as we like to say in the TOKA.  Don’t be concerned with your rank; quite frankly, the “bad guys” don’t care. Even if I had spoken enough Bosniak, Serbo-Croat, or Arabic to convey it to those who wanted me dead as a peacekeeper or combatant, they probably would have just laughed had they heard me make some foolish boast about being a black belt. What matters is how you behave, right now, where you are, and what you do with the knowledge you have as a member of an even greater team. If any one person had all the answers, then we would never need teams.  So, take it from a former green belt who often stumbled through learning, studying the martial arts is about becoming a better person. To become a better person, the first step is demonstrating good manners, and in turn, you will meet other positive people. Together, you can all grow as you build a greater community of learning, and in turn, a greater society.