I wrote a note to my building principal to update him on my progress in Kung Fu since the “Kung Fu Parable”.  I told him that my experience in Kung Fu will make me a better teacher.  It has reminded me of what it feels like to be a “kid/student” again, therefore, giving me a much better perspective on where my students are coming from.

I’ve learned, or re-learned:

•    How to focus my attention better.

•    That I’m not too uncoordinated to learn those “awesome” forms.

•   That it is OK to say “Do it again” to a student.

•    That saying “May I” needn’t be out of style.

•    That I can OVERCOME my FEARS.  I had noticed (before starting Kung Fu) that I was beginning to let my fears limit me more and more.  Now, after sticking with four months of Kung Fu, when I barely thought I could survive one, I have more confidence in my ability to attack an activity, problem or situation that I am afraid of.

•    That there is a place in this world where I can put aside the confident, assertive, in control image I portray to the rest of the world, and work on the parts of me that aren’t so confident.  Where no one expects anything more of me that to do my best.  It’s a place where it is safe to be insecure or nervous until I can gain confidence at what I am doing at my own pace. There is no where else where I feel I can let that side of me out.

•    That if I’m given constructive criticism it is not the “end of the world.”

•    That I can challenge my students more, that it’s good for them, and they probably won’t fall apart.  I’m so conscious of their self-esteem and their need for success that I sometimes spoon-feed them too much or expect less than they are capable of.  I get bored very quickly when I’m not challenged. So do my students.

•    … and so much more than I can put into words.

I often use analogies from my experience in Kung Fu when speaking to teacher’s about students and learning.  The other day, I heard an example come back to me.  My Kung Fu analogies are helping other teachers to understand their kids better.

From Susan’s booklet, “Martial Arts and the Awakening of a Public School Teacher”
Copyright 1995 by Susan Fitzell

“How are skills learned?  By experience.  How, then, are they best taught?  By coaching.  I, the teacher, can tell you rules for writing — grammar, forms of felicitous phrasing, types of argument.  I can show you examples of good and bad writing, and with the aide of an overhead projector, I can demonstrate for you how to analyze a piece of work.  However, until you write and I criticize your writing, your expository skills and the thinking behind them lie latent.”
–Theodore R. Sizer, Horace’s Compromise

I had an experience just this week, that drove this point home. I have been training in the martial arts for almost three years. For the past year, I have been studying Kickboxing along with a formal style of Kung fu.  I have been learning the skills, and the rules, necessary to effectively defend myself.  In the academic world, this would be similar to learning grammar rules, dissecting sentences, and practicing penmanship. The pieces are studied and practiced. Individual skills are tested. Form is learned. I am told and shown what works, how it works and why it works, just as academic teachers “tell” their students how to write. However, I have seldom had the opportunity to apply those skills.

Tuesday night, I put on huge boxing gloves, and protective gear. I got into the boxing ring to kickbox with another woman.  She is about my height, but a body builder.  Her muscle mass makes me look like Oliveoil. We touched gloves to show respect and good sportsmanship and began. The blows came at me, hard and fast.  She hardly kicked, which should have been to my advantage. But, I was so overwhelmed by the power behind the hits to my head that I couldn’t think. It didn’t hurt through my gear; rather, it was psychologically debilitating. All those skills that I had learned were useless in the moment. I couldn’t apply them. My confidence hit bottom. My emotions ran the gamut from frustration to anger to humiliation. I was coached through it. My coach was in the ring, guiding, encouraging, making sure the situation was safe. I think I went two rounds.  I really don’t know. Time was a blur. Was it worth it? Absolutely!

The coach spent time with me afterward, encouraging, analyzing the situation, pointing out style differences, suggesting alternative strategies. Only now, do all the skills, pieces and techniques have meaning. He stressed that I needed to feel the feelings, understand them, recognize them — so when I experienced them again, I’d know what to do with them.  Experience, coaching, critiquing are critical aspects to the learning process. I understand so much more because I have had the experience and the coaching. When I practice the skills, I can now visualize their application. When I practice my Kung Fu forms, I have a better understanding of the “spirit” needed behind the motions. Something clicked. I’ve reached a new level. Knowing I’ll be in the ring again, also adds extra motivation and determination to the skills practice. Now that my skills have meaning, I have more drive.

I often gain tremendous insight into my role as  teacher and  learner from my martial arts experience.  It seems that the physical nature of the martial arts makes the paralleling abstract concepts of the academics very concrete.

Before this week, I have seldom had the opportunity to use my skills “in the ring.” My early experiences with sparring, were not coached. Two people were put together and simply told to practice fighting skills. I reinforced sloppy habits and gained little skill. In my experience, high school teachers expect students to know how to write.  With the possible exception of writing courses, students are given writing assignments, told what to do, and often left on their own to complete an assignment.  Rarely do these students have the skills, or the experience of meaningful application.

With much drill and practice of parts and pieces, form and style, martial arts students become quite good at specific skills.  Until those individual skills are put to the test in the ring, however, meaningful learning does not occur.  Just as it is necessary for the martial artist to use self-defense skills in realistic situations to gain understanding, meaning, and the ability to analyze and apply those skills, the academic student needs to write, to think, to analyze, to apply his or her knowledge, and then write again. Just as it is important to have the martial arts coach in the ring, encouraging, guiding and critiquing, it is important to have the academic “coach” in the classroom encouraging, guiding and critiquing, showing the way, but allowing the student to learn by experience, by doing, by being coached, and doing it again.

Copyright 1995 by Susan Fitzell

Last Wednesday I was hurt during my self-defense class. The instructor was having us practice throws. I don’t like being thrown. I don’t trust the inexperience of the “throwers,” nor do I trust my ability to consistently fall correctly. It’s part of the class, however, so I do it. I don’t know how it happened, but when the young person “threw me” (with a shoulder throw), my head whipped around and hit the floor, hard. There is two inches of padding on the floor. I felt as if the impact compressed the two inches so that I hit bottom. I heard this big, boing type of a bang. Supposedly, it was my brain slamming against my skull. My head hurt a little, and I was a bit nauseous, but, I was OK.

What struck me in all this is how I began to feel about the class. I no longer felt safe. That lack of feeling safe destroyed my motivation and desire to remain in the class. At my age, I don’t take brain injury or paralysis lightly, however, that aside, I again could relate the experience to the academic classroom.

I imagine that my experience is similar to that of a child who is hurt in a class either emotionally or academically. Like that child, I don’t feel very good about my ability to retain the information in that class. As is often the case for children with learning “differences,” the class does not fit my learning style. It is not structured enough for me. There isn’t enough practice and repetition. Steps are not broken down clearly. The class moves too fast. I don’t know the basics, yet, here I am doing throws (and being thrown). If I think about all that I have learned about students who have difficulty in school, their frustration, their fear of being hurt through failure or humiliation, their lack of confidence in the teacher’s ability to teach them, and their distrust in the teacher, I can now understand those students that much better.

I often think that all teachers should periodically be required to learn a task that is inherently difficult for them. Only then do teachers remember what it is like to struggle. This isn’t the first time martial arts has taught me something about my students. I’m sure it won’t be the last.

Susan

****

I’m a Learning Disabilities teacher at a public high school. I have worked with “at-risk” kids for the past nine years.  I’ve always thought I had a good understanding of my students, and could empathize with their hardships.  However, throughout my own educational training and career, I’ve had very little academic difficulty.  I had to work hard, but, I always did well.  I had enough confidence in my ability to learn that I was willing to make the investment.

Now, when it comes to physical pursuits, I perceive myself as “learning disabled.”  I would describe myself as a klutz.  I’ve had enough bruises in my life from bumping into things to back up that perception.  I never could catch or hit a ball.

I believe that physical exercise, however, is a great way to stay healthy and alleviate stress.  I hate to exercise; it is boring.  The one form of exercise I do enjoy is the martial arts.  I find martial arts physically and mentally challenging.

Last year, I checked out several martial arts schools in the area.  I was especially impressed with two different schools.  One, I was very comfortable with.  The other created in me a sense of awe.  The style taught at that school is Kung Fu.

Kung Fu is the ballet of the martial arts.  I am very intimidated by it.  Very little in my life intimidates me.  I decided to join the other school…the one I was comfortable with.  I rationalized that it was a much more practical form of self-defense.  I ran into two obstacles.  First, I had to sign up for four months at a time, and they didn’t take VISA!
Second, the class I really wanted was on my husband’s golf night and I couldn’t find a sitter for my kids.

Well, the Kung Fu school offered classes I liked every night of the week and Saturdays.  I could pay by the month.  Phew!  I didn’t have to make a major commitment.  So, I held my breath and jumped in…to Kung Fu.  The point here is that, like many of my students, because of circumstances beyond my control, I’m taking a course that wasn’t my first choice.  If circumstances were different, I would have rationalized taking the easy way out.

I go to class three times a week.  Usually, within the first ten minutes, I ask myself, “What am I doing here?  Why am I starting something like this, especially at my age?”  I have this overwhelming desire to escape, to walk out (to cut class).  But I don’t.  I have had enough experience in life to know intellectually that I can beat this self-doubt (I think).  My pride forces me to stay.  I don’t quit.

Sifu (kung fu teacher) showed me the first five moves in the basic form.  We practiced it together 3 or 4 times.  He told me to continue on my own until he got back to me, and walked away.  I panicked!  My mind went blank!  I couldn’t remember a thing!  I felt stupid.  I looked around me and everyone else knew what they were doing.  I was too embarrassed to ask for help and make it obvious that I didn’t know what I was doing.  So, I tried to fake it and hoped Sifu wouldn’t notice.

One night, we did shadow boxing.  I absolutely hated it!  One student practiced self defense techniques with a partner, without making contact.  I worried a little about getting hit, but, that wasn’t my big concern.  I just “knew” I couldn’t do it.  I was going to kick my partner in the groin by mistake, or, I’d hit him in the face for sure.  I was so paralyzed by the fear of not being able to do it, that I kept getting confused.  At the end of the session, Sifu told me to practice in the mirror at home.  He said that is how I would improve my technique.  He was giving me homework!  My first emotional response was “Yeah right, like I’m going to waste precious time at home doing something I know I can’t do.”

During another of the classes, Sifu pointed out a basic form that another student was doing.  He told me I would be doing that form in three weeks.  He caught the doubt in my voice as I acquiesced. He said,” It’s YES!  Yes, I will!  I know you have the physical ability, it’s all in the mind, learning the technique and believing you can do it.”  Intellectually, I knew he was right, but, my emotions were in serious conflict with my intellect.  He was telling me I could do it.  On an emotional level, I “knew” I couldn’t.

That’s when it really hit me:  the realization of what my at-risk kids must feel!  How many times have I been discouraged because I’ve seen my students take the “easy way out?”  How many times have I been frustrated by students “cutting class?”  How many times have I seen kids work blindly, afraid to ask or unwilling to ask for help?  How many times have I said to one of my students, “You can do it?  You just have to believe you can!”   And, how many times have I felt frustrated when I couldn’t get through to that student?”  “Johnny” should just take my word for it!  I know he can do it!  Why won’t he believe me?

On an emotional level, I don’t believe my instructor either.  No matter how often he tells me I can do it, it won’t make a difference unless I experience some success along with his words of encouragement.  Am I really expecting teenagers to have the wisdom to persevere with schoolwork they believe they can’t do?  Do I have any Idea of what I am asking of these kids?  Yes, I do now.  The impact this experience is having on me is beyond words.

I see kids in the ninth grade that are failing classes.  I see that they don’t try as hard as I think they should.  Would an adult stay in a Kung Fu class if, after nine years, he or she only had a white belt?  What about after four years?  The big difference is:  the adult can quit the class anytime with no repercussions.  The kid can’t.

Think about how many times adults try to diet, have difficulty sticking to it, don’t meet with success, and then quit.  I know how important eating healthy is.  I want to eat healthy.  I know what I have to do, but, I don’t always do it.  That fatty snack is too tempting to resist.  Yet, I just challenged a student last week with, “You say you want to pass, but, you’re not doing what it takes.  You’re choosing not to study and not to complete homework.”  But, isn’t an education more important than physical exercise or diet?  A student’s future is at stake here!  This is an education I am talking about!  I wonder what my family doctor would think was more important when considering a lifetime…good eating habits, good physical health, or a good education.  I think all three are important, yet, my best effort goes into education.  I do best at what comes easy to me.  I wonder where I’d be if I were a slow learner, or emotionally handicapped?

Let’s talk about fear of success.  Do you know the student that picks up his grades, starts to do well, and then suddenly seems to sabotage his success?  I never understood why someone would do that.  Why would someone be afraid of success?  I think I found my answer to that question, at the gut level.

In Kung Fu, the advanced students use weapons in their forms.  A beginner form requires the use of a long stick, similar to a broom handle without the broom.  More advanced forms require daggers, swords, etc.  I have tremendous conflict within myself about testing for higher rank.  I don’t have the confidence to deal with those weapons.  If I don’t pass the test, I don’t have to use the weapons.  That is a comforting thought.  The more I succeed, the more Sifu will expect from me (and, I “know” I can’t do it).  It is safer to stay where I am.  I guess I have a fear of success in Kung Fu.  Is it possible that my students may feel safer when they don’t succeed, if that’s all they’ve ever known?  Do they fear that if they do succeed, that teachers and parents will expect more of them, possibly more than they feel they can achieve?  And, if they don’t try to succeed, then, they can’t fail.

I never could have imagined what Kung Fu would teach me.  I haven’t learned so much about my students in the past twelve years as I have learned in the past month.  I had a similar experience with an art class in college, (you can’t memorize art), but, that was 12 years ago.  I remembered the experience and what I had learned from it, but, I really didn’t remember, on a gut level, what it felt like.  I forgot what it was like to sit at that easel in tears because I couldn’t get the picture right.

I’m sticking with Kung Fu until September.  Intellectually, I believe I will then sign up for another six months.  My emotions are still battling on that front.  I’ve signed up my daughter.  She loves it.  She is not intimidated.  She hasn’t experienced failure yet.  She’s only five.

Copyright 1992 by Susan Fitzell All Rights Reserved