That Parent: The Coach

Inspired by the Stick Chick’s blog series “That Guy” Thank you, Jackie!!! Jackie Bradbury publishes “The Stick Chick“. You can find Jackie on Google Plus (+Jackie Bradbury) Twitter (@JackieB23), Pinterest, Tumblr and on Facebook

I’m not a perfect parent, never will be. Now that my older daughter has literally* kicked my butt in kumite I need to be even more careful. I’m not a perfect karate parent, either – I’ve made some mistakes, fortunately most of them were out of the dojo when we could talk at length and clear up any misunderstandings and work through our crazy emotions. In the dojo, our Senseis have jurisdiction so that means my daughter has to own her mistakes herself. It also means my daughter is free to achieve things without me clinging to her. She’s on the verge of adulthood, so it’s important that I loosen the leash!

I’ve taken my daughter to five tournaments, and I’m happy to say that out of the crowds of hundreds of parents, I’ve encountered only one parent who was a problem. That Parent: The Coach.

Lord knows I’ve done my share of sideline coaching when my daughter is sparring in tournament. But I do it quietly. I learned to shut the heck up the first tournament – I accidentally distracted my daughter. I still feel badly about that. There are loads of parents who do a fair bit of sideline coaching – mostly quietly and as an outlet for their own nerves. Occasionally one or two might shout encouragement, but usually it’s during a natural break in the action and the words are very generalized and positive (“Good job!”). Not The Coach. She screamed continually.

I don’t think The Coach understands it’s not about medals. My daughter didn’t come home with any medals. She was the only competitor in her beginner’s division, so she agreed to be in the group of girls who had more training. It’s happened before, and my daughter welcomes the challenge. She has always placed second or third. Not this tournament. She lost both fights. Her first fight she was conquered by someone who was expert in getting inside her reach. My daughter’s second fight was magnificent. She made a fantastic comeback after starting off behind 4 points, eventually tied 7 and 7 with a minute left to go. Fast and furious – and the match could’ve gone either way! The other girl reached eight points first, ending the fight. My daughter and I feel that even though she didn’t place, her second fight was her best tournament fight ever. I noticed she’s improved her skills since last tournament. This was a personal triumph. Frankly, I don’t even know where my daughter keeps her medals but I do know what my daughter achieved that day will stay with her. I don’t think The Coach sees anything but failure in the lack of a medal.

I’m not even sure The Coach is a good title. This lady probably has never trained in a martial art, so what credentials does she have to back up all the advice she screams? I’m betting zero. Nonetheless, The Coach had a lot to say, and boy did she say it loudly and continuously the entire match. I don’t think anyone within a thirty foot radius could’ve tuned it out. It’s a wonder the judges were able to concentrate. Her poor kid obviously couldn’t – I saw it in the child’s eyes as the child’s gaze was constantly drawn away from the opponent towards The Coach. “Catch the kicks and take your opponent down! Don’t let the opponent close in on you like that!” Of course the opponent could throw at least three techniques for every sentence, so the mother was mostly commenting on past actions. Did she honestly expect her kid to be able to internalize a comment about a kick that was thrown three seconds ago while blocking a jab to the face in the present moment? The screams went on and on. Right. in. my. ear.

I waited for the officials to call a halt and chuck The Coach out of the venue. They didn’t. Maybe they were waiting for me to deal with it because I was the only one sitting next to The Coach. But before I could think of something appropriate to say, I became aware of my younger daughter. I realized she was having a hard time. My younger daughter is the opposite of her sister – she shudders at fighting and so is not a karate-ka herself. She is autistic, so crowds and noise are difficult for her. Due to circumstances beyond our control, my younger daughter had to come with her big sister and I to the tournament. She coped with everything by reading her books and doing her best to ignore what she didn’t like. But The Coach’s constant screaming almost sent my autistic daughter over the edge. My younger daughter is bigger than her sister and I, so it’s best to be sensitive to her needs. I could see she was trying her best not to have a meltdown. Obviously The Coach had no clue about the effect her screaming was having on the people around her.

I no longer had a choice about waiting for the officials or saying something myself. My dear autistic daughter was tense – hugging herself and grimacing with fright. I led my younger daughter away so I could soothe and encourage her. As soon as we took our first steps away from The Coach, I could feel the tension leaving my dear, special child’s body. I didn’t see the end of that fight. I’m willing to bet that if The Coach’s kid didn’t place, it was The Coach’s fault. People with autism struggle with social situations, yet my autistic teenager showed far more self control than The Coach. I am immensely proud of my younger daughter for that. She triumphed over her impulses, which is an enormous achievement for someone under extreme stress. The Coach gave way to her impulses regardless of the consequences during what should have been a fun time for her and her child.

Of course The Coach didn’t stick around, so I didn’t have a chance to talk to her or encourage her child.

Next time I won’t wait for the officials. I finally figured out I could say, “Hey, relax – take a deep breath, your kid’s doing fine. Just trust your child and enjoy the moment.” The Coach might not appreciate this and might just might throw an amateurish haymaker at me, especially if I’m not wearing a gi – and I was in street clothes that day. If The Coach throws a punch or two at me, I’ll just start blocking and keep blocking until others come along to help. I know darn well that after a physical confrontation, one or more Senseis from my organization would debrief me to make sure everything I said and did was beyond reproach. This on top of whatever the police would want to know, and maybe even the court system. I’ll bet The Coach never considered I might lose my temper and pose a threat to her, and I’m sure she had no idea of all the things that were keeping her safe from me – my good upbringing (thanks, Mom & Dad), my faith, the Senseis who have talked with me at length about ethics, and the fact that I would be held accountable for my actions. I’ve heard of other parents who didn’t restrain themselves at their childrens’ special events, and the stories aren’t pretty.

Actions have consequences. We learn that in karate. We also learn to be good examples to others. The Coach’s constant, loud stream of advice was ludicrous and counterproductive. I don’t think The Coach had a clue that my autistic child was frightened by the screaming. Nor was The Coach being a good role model. I hope her child has other adults who are better role models. Most of all, I hope and pray The Coach’s child didn’t have to listen to an angry tirade on the way home.

Now, if you want to know how to be a good karate parent, I have an article for you by Jesse Enkamp
If you aren’t yet a karate parent but want to be one, definitely read this article by Jackie Bradbury

Thanks again to Jackie Bradbury for letting me play with her theme! A reminder – Jackie’s blog is Jackie Bradbury publishes “The Stick Chick“. You can find Jackie on Google Plus (+Jackie Bradbury) Twitter (@JackieB23), Pinterest, Tumblr and on Facebook

  • Here’s the story about my daughter literally kicking my butt. It was while we were doing two-against-one sparring. I was retreating from the other opponent’s attack. My daughter was behind me. She says she was aiming her kick higher and maintains that I blundered right into her kick before it was fully extended, thus, she concludes, I myself drove my posterior onto her foot. I have trouble believing she didn’t playfully tap me on the hiney just to be funny 🙂

Dyslexia – a Path to the Heart of Karate


When I was six I started taking ice skating lessons.  I earned a patch or two then things started getting harder.  I would try whatever the instructor demonstrated, and inevitably the instructor would frantically call out something like, “No, start with your left  blade!”  Then she’d demonstrate by starting with what looked to me like her right foot (but it was really her left).  The verbal instructions didn’t line up with what my dyslexic brain told me I was seeing.  I’d freeze (pun fully intended).  Which foot was I supposed to use?    I gave up – the cold always bothered me anyway.  Yes, I told this whiney little story just so I could use a bad pun and play on a line from a song in the movie “Frozen.”

I gave up on ice skating but I didn’t have a choice when it came to math.  I had to study math in school.  I am dyscalculic – never put me in charge of cash!  Am I going to whine about dyscalculia?  No, because I got decent grades in math all the way through trigonometry.  I used reams of scratch paper and worked problems slowly so as to minimize errors.  Along about third grade I began to see arithmetic not as a mere collection of facts but an expression of the relationships among numbers.  I started relying less on faulty rote memory and relied more and more on principles.  In other words, I learned to beat my disability by getting to the heart of mathematics.

I also didn’t have a choice about learning history.  I hated memorizing dates.  Unfortunately, below college level a significant portion of test questions was about dates.  Numbers tend to jump around in my head and sometimes I reverse numbers while writing.  I learned to cope with history by memorizing key dates.  I then derived other dates based on the events leading up to and following those key events.  This meant I had to see history as a story.  I had to stop thinking of history as a mere collection of facts.  I thought about what influenced important people when they made decisions and took action.  I used my imagination a lot.  I chuckled nervously as I watched John Hancock sign the Declaration of Independence.  I shivered in the cold at Valley Forge.  Using my imagination to make events come alive made it easier to construct a timeline in my mind.  If I accidentally reversed numbers while writing the date of an event I could easily spot the error because the event wouldn’t fit in with the story of that decade or century.  I was well prepared for writing essays in college history classes because I had long since found the heart of history.

The less said about me learning to drive the better (my poor parents!), but I eventually did that too.  I think my driving record speaks for itself.  I am very appreciative of GPS technology.  Driving should have a heart – after all, some people wax poetic about Route 66.  Me – I just go through the motions of driving.  I don’t look for ways to enjoy it and I’m not about to do anything more with my driving skills than get from Point A to Point B safely.  I hope I never have that kind of attitude about Karate.

Sometime in junior high I decided to try karate and found I liked it.  I still had trouble with left and right.  I couldn’t translate Sensei’s demonstrations into what I was supposed to do.  However, I didn’t give in to despair.  I was shoulder-to-shoulder with students who were learning the same things.  More experienced students were in front of me.  I could watch my fellow students and learn.  By the time I got to the front row I could see how I was doing in the mirror.  Of course there was always the option to ask for help before and after class.  I beat my disability.  Since then I’ve learned more about coping with directional dyslexia.

Life circumstances led to a 27 year hiatus from karate.  I recently joined a different dojo (my former dojo closed down long ago).  I’m learning a similar style but the differences between what I learned long ago and what I’m learning now sometimes throw me for a loop.  Directional dyslexia is still with me.  A good bit of what I struggle with can be addressed by drilling and practicing on my own.  The sheer repetition will eventually get through to me.

So how do I cope with kata when it’s hard for me to tell left from right?  All those twists and turns and which arm goes where while what leg moves in which way?  You might think kata makes me scream with frustration but actually I really enjoy kata.  Bunkai makes kata real and much easier for me to learn and remember!  Sometimes while practicing kata in the garage my daughter and I come up with crazy scenarios involving some pretty outrageous opponents (drunkards, evil clowns, big hairy bikers).  When we put some fun into it, I get those katas memorized all right.

Here are the most important coping mechanisms I’ve come up with for dealing with directional dyslexia in karate:

Don’t whine and don’t refer to your disability.  Instead, ask questions.  “Excuse me, Sensei, may I please see that again?” is a good place to start.  Here’s another example: “Sensei, what does this hand do when this leg comes forward?”

Apply what you learn by practicing with a partner – you’ll need to move slowly so as not to injure one another!  Make it real so it’s easier to remember.

Link movements to what some other part of the body is doing – for example, if my head turns to look at my new opponent coming at me from the left, I look over at him and my arm on the side I’m looking towards will block his attack.  I’ve also learned to translate “left” or “right” to “the side with the leading leg” or “the side with the back leg” while watching demonstrations.

Be patient with yourself.  You can overcome this challenge over and over by allowing yourself some time, working hard, and receiving plenty of help from others.  Don’t undermine this process by thinking you have to nail the technique immediately!

If you just aren’t understanding the movements, try anyway even if you fall behind the count.  Sensei will come around to you eventually.

Ask for help before or after class!  While you’re getting the individual attention, position yourself to watch demonstrations from whatever perspective makes sense. I usually stand side-by-side or behind.

Practice, practice, practice.  All students need this, but I can’t emphasize it enough for those challenged by directional dyslexia

For an extra challenge during practice time, start your kata by facing a different wall than the front of the dojo.  Yes I have done this, so you can too!  Thank you, Sensei Isao Gary Tsutsui for this idea.  Confession – I need to do this more often.

I will always struggle with directional dyslexia.  So be it.  In fact, I’m actually glad for the challenge.  It means I am not just going through the motions.  I am learning to understand what I’m doing.  I’m on a path into the very heart of karate.



(thanks to Sensei Andrea Harkins for this topic)

“Have you ever had to use karate against someone?”

Often people ask me this question because they hope I’ve never been in danger.  Sometimes they are just plain curious.  Every once in awhile when someone asks me this, the tone of voice, facial expression, and the body language indicate that what they’re really after is a cool story about how I beat up a serial rapist one night and sent him to the hospital with a few of his parts crushed into jelly.  Most of these people don’t understand that at my level of competence, I’d be lucky to create an opportunity that would allow me to run away.

Real fights aren’t glamorous and they have consequences.  I’ve only been in one fight myself. By Hollywood standards it really wasn’t much of a fight because I only used just enough force to make my point and walk away.  And yes, there were consequences for me even though I gained freedom from ongoing physical abuse.  As I’ve said before in another article, when we use force – even minimal force, against another human being there are consequences.  Outcomes can be either positive or negative.  One can see this principle played out in a variety of life situations.

In martial arts and many sports, two or more people mutually consent to engage in using force against each other.  One walks away with a medal, the other doesn’t.  Sometimes the consequences are greater – one team wins national honors, one team doesn’t.  Injuries of various severity happen.  These consequences are part and parcel for the activities, and hopefully everyone understands this beforehand!

Sometimes people use force against others to prevent greater harm.  For instance, someone might knock another person to the ground to save that person from being hit by a falling rock.  The consequences might be bruises and scrapes, but that’s better than being six feet under ground.  Usually there’s good feeling all around when someone is a hero.  In a more common scenario, a parent might snatch a curious toddler’s hand away from a burning candle.  The toddler might cry in vexation – that’s a consequence, but it’s one most parents can live with.  The child will eventually learn to leave candles alone.

Of course force is also used against people who are acting on bad choices.  It can be tough for us to deal with the consequences of harm we’ve inflicted even if it was only a little harm done for the right reasons against someone who deserved it.  We might doubt ourselves, and that self-doubt could last a very long time.  I’m told people sometimes get sued for harm they inflicted while defending themselves.

Before he passed away, I sometimes talked with my grandfather about his experiences as a soldier in Europe during World War II.  By the time he felt comfortable talking to me about the war, any PTSD he might have suffered was long since over. Nonetheless, he told me that killing others, watching friends die, and almost dying himself were things that had deeply affected his life.  He made it very clear that taking a human life is a very serious thing indeed.

I don’t want to write much about force that is used against people for the wrong reasons.  The consequences for child abusers, muggers, and murderers can range from jail sentences to the electric chair.  Enough said.

The challenge for me as I study karate is to learn to control my use of force so that I don’t use too much when it isn’t appropriate to do so.  I don’t sweat my way through drills and kumite so I can go to the worst part of town, pick a fight, then brag about it afterward.  Such behavior goes against everything Karate students are taught about humility and self control.  I am learning about what kind of force is appropriate for any given situation I might find myself in.  Should I ever have to use force against someone in the future, I will need to accept and deal with whatever consequences come afterward.  Hopefully I’ll have the strength of character to do that.

Choices – Part Two

As promised, here’s the story of my choice to not fight immediately and how that choice possibly averted an international incident between the United States and what was then the Soviet Union near the end of the Cold War.  I’m probably exaggerating my own importance, but it’s a fun story even though at the time I was literally running scared.  What I mean by fun is it’s like a ghost story – many of us like to feel that shiver down our spines as a good storyteller relates the events.  This story contrasts with my previous blog (below), in which I explained how I dealt with the emotional aftermath of my choice to use karate to end ongoing physical abuse.

Choices – Part Two


In 1988, Russian speaking competitions were held throughout the United States (under the direction of the American Council of Teachers of Russian) and corresponding English speaking competitions were held in what was then the Soviet Union.  Twenty winners from each nation were sent to tour the other nation for a month.  This was the first nationwide exchange of high school students between the US and the USSR.  I was the winner for my region.  Tensions between the two superpowers were easing, President Reagan and Mr. Gorbachev were talking, but there were still indications of distrust of even us goofy high school kids.

We knew for a fact our hotel rooms were bugged.  Anyone who’s taken a basic course in electronics knows a speaker can be a microphone and vice versa, so one of us experimented on one of the the cable radios hardwired into the walls of our hotel rooms.  Within minutes a maid appeared, walked straight to the radio, and took away the towels used to muffle the radio.  I kid you not!  Either the KGB didn’t care that we knew they were listening, or the agents in charge that day deemed us stupid enough to think the maid was just popping in by chance.  Way to go, comrades 😛

One night at some awful hour in the morning, my room-mate was sick.  She wanted me to go get one of our American teachers.  I jogged down the barely-lit hallway of the hotel, thundered down the dim stairs, turned on a fairly wide landing and…

“I hear you.”  said a hoarse, creepy, male voice in Russian.

A man stood silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling window of the landing.

I kept going – in fact I sped up and took the stairs down even faster.  In an instant without breaking stride I’d analyzed this was no place for a fight.  He was silhouetted against a window and therefore could see me just fine by the light of a street lamp.  All I could see was a black form.  The landing was about half the size of a karate tournament square, but the stairway was wide and very much a hazard.  I elected to choose the ground so the fight would be on my terms.  I raced down the barely-lit hallway.  The lighting was on my side now and my American teacher would hear any rumpus.

Scared as I was, I analyzed my opponent as I ran.  I was glad he’d made a tactical error in not grabbing me immediately.  I scoffed at the thought of him expecting me to freeze at the sound of his voice.  Clearly he’d underestimated me, and he would probably continue to do so.  I knew that was to my advantage.  At the same time, I kicked myself for not scanning the landing before I barelled down onto it.  I really wondered why the guy had addressed me using the formal  “you.”  Criminals would use the informal “you” as an insult – a way to demoralize a victim.

My first weapon was my position.  I could see him approaching and there was only one direction from which he could get at me.  As I mentioned earlier, my teacher would hear the rumpus.  My second weapon was my native language.  We were supposed to use Russian as much as possible, but I deliberately shouted in English as I pounded on my teacher’s door.  In the Soviet era, criminals would get in boatloads more trouble for attacking foreigners than their fellow countrymen.  I also had my ace in the hole – karate.

“Mrs. M – wake up!  Are you there?  It’s me…”  I turned to glare at the creep, who’d just appeared out of the gloom at the beginning of the hall, “Well, my roommate is sick and she’s asking for you…  Yeah, she’s feeling really bad…  Yes, she wants you to come.  Oh, and there’s this creep hanging around out here…”

I kept up a constant stream of English and maintained eye contact with the man, silently sending the message that this scrawny teenage girl was actually a force to be reckoned with.  I was glad he didn’t advance further than a few feet into the dim gloom of the hallway.  He stopped about ten yards away from me.

I was surprised at the man’s appearance.  He was clean and neat.  By American standards, his clothes were laughable – can we say polyester, boys and girls?  But by Soviet standards he was dressed in good stylish clothes found in the special stores where only the best little Comrades were allowed to shop.  His hair and mustache were trimmed neatly, but the style was from the mid 1970’s (darned good by Soviet standards).  He clearly wasn’t a street rat.

The man appeared to be listening intently, as people often do when they are following conversation in a language they don’t speak fluently.  When I shouted through my teacher’s door about my roommate being sick, his eyes widened, his head nodded, and I could see his mouth form an inaudible, “Ah!”  He grinned and disappeared after he heard enough about himself (believe me, I had plenty to say).  Finally, my teacher came out of her room.  I walked ahead of my teacher, as she was, shall we say, near retirement age.  I was alert, every sense strained, and I checked that landing in the stairwell thoroughly.  We didn’t encounter anyone on our way to my sick roommate. The man had evidently decided to lurk elsewhere.

The way I figure it, the man was a low-level KGB agent who’d drawn the short straw when it was time to assign someone to take the graveyard shift monitoring us American kids.  Fighting him would have been a very bad idea, and just might have ended with me shot dead.  There was plenty of room for a concealed firearm or two under his tacky dark brown polyester blazer.  Maybe it would’ve sparked ill will between America and the Soviet Union, given I was part of the first nationwide exchange of students.  Maybe not.  But it sure makes an interesting story.

Looking back years later, it’s clear I feel badly about the actual fight I was in and I feel much better about the incident when I ended up not having to fight.  The encounter with the KGB agent in the USSR is like a scary ghost story to be told around a campfire for the sheer joy of seeing chills run down the audience’s spines.  I’m still reluctant to open up about the other incident in which I chose to fight as a last resort.  When we use force, even minimal force, against another human being there are consequences even if it was the right thing to do.

I can reflect on both incidents and know that if I made the right choices when I was a kid, I can probably trust my adult self to make the right choice if I find myself in another bad situation.  But let’s face it – I’m human, I will blow it from time to time.  However, I can also trust my adult self to learn from bad decisions and do better next time.  That is what self confidence is all about, isn’t it?

Choices – Part One

This article is a two-parter.  I spent about three or four years training in karate when I was in junior high and high school.  The two blogs are two stories from my past.  I hope they contrast the differences between how I feel about the events years later.  In one situation, I chose to fight.  In the other, I chose not to fight immediately and ended up not having to fight at all.  I think I made the right choices, and looking back, I’m amazed at how very young I was when I had to face those choices.

Part One – The Incident

One day as my daughter and I checked in to the fitness center for water exercise class, the man working the front desk asked if we’d ever had to use our karate.  He was just being friendly, showing that he remembers what classes we take, and that’s fine.  I was less than truthful with my answer, “Good Heavens – no.”  As I gathered a clean towel from the counter, I wrongfully indulged in self-justification by telling myself the check-in line had to be kept moving so I didn’t have time to get into details.  I wish I hadn’t been so reluctant to talk.  It might have done the man good to hear, “No, my daughter has never had to use karate and I haven’t had to use karate since I resumed training almost three months ago.  I did use karate once a long time ago when I was a kid.  I don’ t like talking about it.”  That wouldn’t have taken long to say.

About half an hour later I had to confront memories of “The Incident” again from a different angle as we were doing a gentle exercise in the pool.  I was asked, “Why did you home school your kids?”  An innocent question, yet it triggered memories.  I simply gave the top two of my many reasons, but lurking in the back of my mind was “The Incident,” which is the number 3 reason I chose to home school.

The next day, I realized that if I was confronted with “The Incident” twice in the space of an hour, I can’t avoid it forever.  The visceral emotional reactions had to be dealt with.  I wrote out a narrative.  I analyzed.  I turned it around.  I have five positives that I can tell myself and others.  Five positives to help me take the deep breaths that will overcome the nausea and tightness in my throat when I think about “The Incident.”

1) I got myself out of ongoing physical abuse that nobody was willing to help me with.   And I mean nobody – I asked.

2) Nobody laid a finger on me ever again.

3) I used only the force needed to make the point that I could take care of myself.  No one was seriously hurt, and that was by my design.

4) Given my very young age at the time, I made the best choices I could have made before, during, and after the incident.

5) I’d really rather talk about the time when I made the choice not to fight and therefore avoided the possibility of an international incident between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. near the end of the Cold War.  OK, maybe I’m exaggerating my own importance, but it does make a great teaser!  It’s a fun story, although at the time I was literally running scared.  Stay tuned for Part Two!

I guess I’m starting to get the picture that there’s a lot more to karate than all the cool stuff we do in class.

Click here for Choices Part 2