A college student from the 1970s got involved in martial art, motivated by Bruce Lee, Kwai Chang Caine, and Lo Lei in “Five Fingers of Death,” a long-haired hippie in flared pants, a tank top, and a Manchu fu . mustache, I dove in and walked into a karate dojo.

I can say that the first day of classes was foreign, foreign, whatever.

Like everything else during this time in my life, when I came across something new, I spent more time looking, observing, emulating, saying nothing, and hoping that my “wildflower” imitation would not attract attention. Except for those wearing starched white karate uniforms with multi-colored belts announcing their ranks, I noticed others like me, stretching awkwardly, in quiet corners, not making eye contact.

After I entered, I sat on a chair and took off my shoes and socks, carefully storing them in a place where I would not forget them. I stood on the edge of the dojo floor, bowed, and entered. It was the first time I experienced barefoot hardwood flooring. It hurt.

In that moment I realized how cowardly I was now that I’m taking “kay-RAH-tay”.

I stopped buying a gi or a karate uniform. I was allowed to wear sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I noticed that the chalk used by the students was cleaned and ironed before each workout.

This was the beginning of a strict code that I was not familiar with.

Great respect for manners was a requirement; no infraction, large or small, was tolerated. If he was wrong, the student lost his membership. During my years of training, I had neither heard nor experienced any case where this code was broken. When I started studying martial arts, I lived in a time when manners were mandatory. My family had a hard time working in the agricultural fields of California’s Central San Joaquin Valley. As a child, he had few possessions: several sets of clothes: one for play or work; a game for school and a clean and fresh game for church or formal events. Although Mom and Dad earned meager wages as itinerant farm laborers, we dressed in fancy dresses and suits in church. It made me uncomfortable to spend the effort trying to look like a proper person. When I joined the class, I was in college and was not at all interested in wearing formal wear. I wasn’t interested in adding another set of rules to my confusing life. Despite this feeling, I kept going, not long to accept the rules, but more to learn. As long as I wasn’t asked to train naked butt, I tolerated the clean gi, the immaculate training rooms, etiquette, and filial obedience. A uniform appearance was necessary so as not to be a learning problem: one less thing to worry about while learning something new and perfecting the old. It’s like wearing pressed pants, a white shirt, and a red tie to an interview. Conservative by today’s standards, when wearing conservative clothing, appearance will not be a reason not to get the job. As with the whole aspect of etiquette, manners and regiment manners, there is an attitude of respect and humility. Although the instructor didn’t have to explain it specifically, I quickly learned that the learning process evolved more and more profoundly than what was in front of me. I found that these rules developed character and made me a better person.

When I was a child, I was taught to say “yes sir”, “yes ma’am” to the elderly, teachers, clergymen, policemen, etc. without knowing why. In hindsight, before entering (and exiting) the dojo and greeting the sensei, I was taught to bow down and say the word “os”, short for “onegai-shimasu” (oh-neh-GAH-ee-she-mah -SOOH ) which, translated, means “Will you help me or will you teach me, please?” An act of respect and a culture of self-control and etiquette as you learn self-defense. “Excuse me and I do apologize, but I must gouge out your eyes with my tiger fist technique.” Peace and compassion, the foundation combines manners and killing skills.

That first day, Sensei Willard Thomas made us line up with the seniors at one end and the beginners at the other. We waited several seconds while the dojo fell silent, silent, the experience made me nervous. I watched carefully as he knelt, first dropping to one knee and then the other. Followed Everyone follows. I struggled to mimic these movements as the ground hurt my knees and instep. As I ached and fought the urge to readjust, others around me remained frozen like statues. It was the first time I had ever done something like this and it was weird, awkward, but intriguing. Sensei made eye contact with me and then yelled “mokutsu!” (moh-koot-SOOH) I had no idea what it meant, but I saw him close his eyes. Naturally, I followed him. As the seconds ticked by, I tried to let what was supposed to happen happen. What he remembered through his closed eyes was nothing but darkness and a burn of dragged images. I focused on this darkness as my eyes focused on the back of my lids, the world around me passed by. Although, among others, I felt lonely and weird.

Be quiet.

It was so quiet that I could hear my heartbeat. The person next to me breathed quietly as a strange hiss came from a little boy who knelt on the other side of me.

I bit back a laugh.

Then my mind wandered thinking of the collapsing ceiling, crashing on all of us except sensei who remained intact and unaffected. I felt my breath leave me, suffocated. I needed to go, but I fought the feeling. The seconds passed and I screamed to myself.

Then, through the darkness, I heard him speak: “As karate students, leave all thoughts behind. Your home, your school, your church. Everything. All thoughts except karate are no more.” I felt an overwhelming peace. Something happened; I did not fight him and I enjoyed this strange journey. A long period of silence followed and then “Mokutsu-yame!” (moh-koot-SOOH-YAH-meh) I opened my eyes just to see what was supposed to happen next, and everyone had their eyes wide open and focused on sensei. He leaned into a kneeling position, his forehead barely touching the ground. They all bowed respectfully.

My forehead hit the ground.

Oh.

I was in college experiencing life outside the home, difficult studies, freedom, an open mind that accepted the liberation of time. Learning new skills like dealing with adverse personalities, this new culture felt like ice on my feet. It was in the early 1970s, during a time in my life when drugs and sex were supposedly acceptable, appropriate, and safe. As a result, the last thing on my mind was being disciplined, military in scope, in love with a strange culture. Mokutsu (the Japanese word for “meditation”) eliminated external thoughts and I became a sponge to learn.

This training helped me 35 years later. Although I have trained in other systems, Shorin Ryu and Shotokan Karate, Aikijujitsu, Okinawan Armament, Muay Thai Kickboxing and Taijiquan, what I learned from sensei taught me how to learn by letting go of all external thoughts first.

I learned that to be good at anything, I had to be a good student, a hard worker, an expert on the basis of studies. In math, grammar, history, science, or music, I found that if I mastered the fundamentals, it would be easier for me to move up the learning ladder than if I had overlooked the fundamentals.

Karate consisted of three basic blocks, three basic kicks, a large number of strikes, and a variety of striking techniques. Sensei Thomas’s curriculum was the same, not different from the previous one. I started out clumsy, stumbling. Others were like me, some better the next. The mirrors showed their determination. The seniors led by example and I wished my arms, torso, and legs would follow suit. Sensei came by and corrected me at periodic intervals. As the days and months passed, my form improved. I progressed fast, partly because I was an athlete, mostly because I practiced at home and was motivated. My self-confidence skyrocketed. This helped, of all things, with college, which before martial arts training he suffered. It was my first year at university and I dedicated part of the effort to studies. The college party scene made me stagger backwards because I needed to change. Karate training brought back “discipline”, a concept I heard in conversations that helped me. Discipline as a military concept was something I did not practice before taking Sensei Thomas’s class. When we stayed in the horse position for the entire class, my legs burned and ached like never before. Everyone else in the class suffered as Sensei Thomas remained in his stance hitting, hitting and blocking, a stoic presence. Not wanting to be left behind, I mirrored his posture, lower than most of the others in the class, accepting his challenge to progress.

This taught me to shut up, listen and emulate.

Martial arts is a discipline that teaches by example. Sometimes the instructor corrected through instructions, but most of the time, he just copied (monkey sees, monkey does).

I can say that the most important part of life is appreciating its complexities, learning the basics and becoming an expert, and in this case, the better copycat the better. When the time comes when you master the art of copying, you can begin to design your own path … your own destiny. Hai. Wakirimaska?