Never Trust a Hippie to Teach You How To Punch

Jujut-su class isn't going so well. Last week I had to yell at a kid because he was hitting me too hard. I'm old.

This is the exact Dojo I attended six years ago. I had done my homework to find it. Breaking cinder blocks with my noggin' was not my goal. I wanted something I could use. Something that, if necessary, could get me out of a situation.

I've been in a few physical fights in my life. Most have been during my early teens, when maturity prevents the words from surfacing. One time Chuck, a "good friend", punched me in the mouth after school. He was an alpha type and, looking back, never really a good friend. When I went over to his house, he would toss Chinese stars dangerously in my direction. While his intention was to scare, I'm not sure he would have been too upset if one caught flesh. Previous to the punch in the mouth, Chuck had knocked my school books out of my hands. Friendly teasing I thought and decided to return the favor. Later that day, as we walked toward our homeward bound bus, I saw my chance for retaliation and spilled his books accented with a giggle. Word spread quickly on the bus ride home that he was not pleased and that I was in for a beating. Moments after getting off the bus, I saw his determined knotted face getting closer. I set my books down, put my fists up, and was promptly caught in the jaw by his right hook. Teeth from my lower jaw pierced my cheek resulting in an arterial like spray across the side of my head and I went down.

Miya-Maru Ju-jutsu originated in Japan, but took off in the Bronx. New York is a tough place. The cops need an edge when encountering street fighting men, and this Dojo gave it to them. All the maneuvers are self defensive with an emphasis on controlling the situation there after. This control may involve breaking wrists, arms, and other bones to stop a fight. It was also good exercise.

Sensei Don was an ex FBI agent. He stood approx five foot four inches and was one bad mother-fucker. He wasn't unpleasant, you just knew not to f with him. Everyone had respect for Don. At the beginning of class you bowed with sincerity, and listened when he talked because every verbal morsel was important and interesting. Returning to the Dojo six years later, Don was gone. Only his business partner John remained.

The lady and I had the Dojo to ourselves as no other beginners attened. Having the run of the place came with the dedicated attention of Sensei John. Since John was a talker, this wasn't always a desirable scenario. As if talking to his kids, John would reiterate points in different ways and multiple times until he was sure the knowledge had sunken in. He told us to smile when we practiced falling, blocking punches, and throwing punches because ... well, no one expects you to smile doing those things. He continued making sure we knew that smiling was easier than frowning, it was relaxing, and that when facing an opponent a smile would send strange signals that would perhaps allow you to avoid a physical conflict. Whatever hippie.

John's babbling and unobstructed attention gave birth to an almost complete lack of respect. It is only one of the reasons we decided to take a break from class. The other being the lady doesn't enjoy or know how to punch. I like that in a person.