The Punchline

Wednesday, 4pm. A group of five to six year old girls sit facing me, looking crisp in their starched uniforms, white belts tied snuggly around their waists. “Eyes closed, take a deep breath”, I say, peeking out from under my lids to see if they are listening. Giggling at first, then sitting attentively, backs straight. A few seconds later – silence. Ten more seconds as they feel the stillness… “Okay, eyes open, meditation finished.”

We begin class, and each girl begins her journey. They don’t know it, but in this hour, they are picking up much more than how to kick and punch. Like it or not, by studying an ancient martial art steeped in the ‘ways of the warrior’, they’re getting a little taste of some life lessons.

Katherine skips into the room, her brown curls bobbing energetically around her smiling face. Dressed in black lycra shorts and a bright pink shirt that says ‘run like a girl’, she says ‘hello Sensei’ as she goes by.
“Where’s your gi Katherine?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t want to wear it because it’s too hot”, she replies non-chalantly. She’s right of course. I think of how I sweat wearing the long-sleeve, long-pant uniform in this tropical weather.
“Sorry, but wearing your gi is a ‘must do’. Your gi is a special uniform just for practicing karate, and you have to wear it, hot or not.”
“But I get all sweaty and itchy”, she moans.
“That’s okay” I deadpan, “you’re supposed to work hard and sweat in karate, and do it without complaining.”
For a second, she looks at me with surprise, as if I’m from another planet, then quickly changes into her uniform without another word.
Self-discipline.

Ayu R. is quieter than the other girls, and appears shy at first. But towards the end of just our second class, she runs over and gives me a big hug around the waist, then flops down on the floor playfully. Initially pleasantly surprised by her show of affection, then curious about why she is suddenly so playful, I hang onto her hands, helping her up. Is she simply genuinely happy, looking for a little extra attention, testing the waters for what comes next, or all of the above? Up on her feet again, she plonks down at the side of the room, not wanting to participate in the last round of the ‘big ball game’.
“What’s up Ayu?”, I inquire.
She glances over at me, but remains silent.
“You don’t want to play the game anymore?” I suggest.
She nods. She already had her turn, and now wants to sit out. Is she tired? Bored? Tuning out?
“Is it fair that when it was your turn everyone joined in, but now that it’s someone else’s turn, you’re sitting out?” I continue.
Silence. “Did that register?” I wonder.
A few seconds go by, as if she’s processing what I just said. Turning the words over in her mind and making her decision about how to react. Then she looks over at me, grins, and jumps in to join the last minute of the game.
Participation.

“Ready to do a kata?” I ask the group. “Okay, let’s line up. Three people in front, and three behind”.
“Feet together, stand up straight, hands by your side. Bow. Step forward and punch. One, two, three, four…”
Ratu confidently repeats my instructions and corrects the other girls during class. “Not like that, do it like this…” she instructs, her brown eyes wide and wavy black hair moving from side to side across her bony shoulders. She is used to being a big sister. She is used to being the boss.
“Who’s job is it to be the teacher?” I ask gently.
“Yours”, she replies softly, glancing down. She is quiet for about five minutes, until we move onto another exercise with a new set of instructions which she repeats again. She just can’t help herself. I remind her. Again. Old habits are hard to break, even at age six. By the end of class she’s got it. She listens quietly, attentively, eyes fixed on me, as I talk to the group. She doesn’t repeat a thing.
Restraint.

Hanna is the smallest girl in the class. She has great technique already, after just two lessons. Standing straight, her blond hair tied back in a cute ponytail, she turns her hands just before the punch reaches its target, thumb tucked in to make a tight fist, first two knuckles hitting the bag square on. One, two, three - “hit harder”, I urge her. Four, five, six - she turns it up a notch, her mouth pursed with concentration, spunky bright blue eyes focused like a tiger on its prey. Seven, eight, nine – her little hands pound the white circle in the middle of the punching pad. Ten! “Kiaaaaaaaiiiiiiiii” she shouts at the top of her lungs, releasing the energy from her body and letting her punch Rrrrrrrip. A big smile spreads across her face. She knows she punched as hard as she could, and it felt good.
Focus.

Tara is tall and lanky, her long limbs and skinny frame discovering the meaning of co-ordination. I roll the big exercise ball towards her and she kicks it back to me, her delicate brown eyes fixed on the moving target in front of her. I roll it to another girl, she kicks it back, and on we go. The pace picks up, and the ball flies quickly around the room, girls jumping here and there. Suddenly there’s a crash and I see Tara on the floor. “Is she okay?” I worry. She gets up slowly, brushing herself off, flicking her sandy brown braid behind her again. Seeing that she’s fine, no one says a thing. Seeing that everyone simply continues with the game, she joins right in again without missing a beat. Falling down and getting back up again. The cycle of life.
Perseverance.

Ayu S. is a rambunctious girl in constant motion, hard to contain, like a shaken bottle of coke, desperate to fizz out of the can. At the end of class, her body twitching with excitement and concentration, her black bob-cut locks sticking to her sweaty round face, she sits still, legs tucked underneath her in seiza, hands on her lap, eyes closed, meditating with the rest of the group for a full minute. Sixty seconds doesn’t sound long, but to a five year old sitting quiet and still with eyes closed and five friends beside her, it is an eternity.
Willpower.

Class over, we kneel down again, girls in a straight line, facing front. We bow to each other, closing class with a simple show of respect.

As they chatter excitedly while putting on their shoes, I smile to myself, knowing that with every punch they throw, with every kiai they shout, these girls are becoming stronger people, physically and mentally. Self-discipline, participation, restraint, focus, perseverance, willpower, and respect all add up over time to confident young women. There’s something intangibly empowering about hitting a target with all your might, then adding timing, technique and speed to the equation when you thought you couldn’t do any more, and exceeding your limit. Call it what you want, it’s the stuff about yourself that feels good, not in relation to anyone except yours truly (and maybe the punching bag). A lifelong journey, beginning with a first step – er, punch.


“the ultimate aim of karate lies not in victory or defeat,
but in the perfection of the human character.”

- Gichin Funakoshi, Founding Father of Karate