More on teachers and students

Teachers and students, and what our relationships should be with regard to both roles are part of what it means to be involved in traditional budo.  Like a classical dancer, we continue to train all our performing lives (and as lucky budoka, we can go much longer than a ballerina).  Even as we gain permission from our teachers to teach, the idea that someone can "look over our shoulder" and suggest improvements in our training is an endless, and beneficial, process.

So, as usual, especially after okeiko, I turn over issues in my mind as I go home, based on what happened in class and whatever else is going on.  Last night, I was changing trains, when I ran into one of my old students on the platform.  I always liked this guy.  He was not particularly ambitious for rank, he enjoyed training, and was kind of a mellow, teddy bear type.  When I was kicked out of my old group he was not involved, though, like most of the rest of them, he decided to stay there rather than follow me into the great beyond of No Dojo.  But that was the only fault I could ever find with him.

We had a pleasant, brief conversation.  He asked me if I was still teaching MSR.  I said yes, I was, and he said he thought so because he had seen something about it.  Still at the community college?  Yes, and elsewhere on Thursdays.  He remarked that he had just come from okeiko himself, and that my old sempai had complained that he did not come to class often enough, which was true, since he worked alot.  Still, he said, he missed MSR, since "they don't teach it anymore."

"I know," I said.

We chatted a little more, about how he would like to do MSR again, but wanted to stay with his current style as well.  I remarked that I had tried to do the same for a little while, but in the end decided to take a different path, mostly for political reasons.  I didn't lay it on too thickly; a lot of time has passed, plus I had just had a great practice and, happily, it's really difficult to be negative after a great practice. 

Just before his train pulled in, he asked if he could come some time and do some MSR.  I told him the community college class was not as much fun as the Thursday class, but, a little taken aback, did not say yes or no.  After we parted, I of course started thinking about it.

If this guy came to my class, what would I do?  If he, or any of my old students (depending on their role in the coup, though I doubt any of the actual conspirators would make an appearance) came to the community college class, I would probably have to accept them, since it's basically a public class.  Unless someone is truly poorly behaved, I don't exactly have a choice.  If he came to the Thursday night class, I might be torn - it's a private class, so theoretically I have some discretion, but the sponsor needs to make money, and one of the prime ways he makes it right now is by students coming to my class.  Turning away someone otherwise ok to take part would be literally taking rent money away from the sponsor, which I would be loathe to do.

More importantly, if he came to either of my classes, would I be generous enough to refrain from bitter remarks about my exile in Queens, while my old place is still functioning, largely because of the framework I built for it?  Or (more likely), refrain from making snide remarks about his current style because of its flash and general impracticality, as compared to what I currently teach?  These are some of the thoughts that preoccupied me on the rest of the way home.  I was happy to see him, and yet, even though the water has passed 'way under the bridge, he reminded me of a former life that I thought was pretty sincere but which turned out not to be. 

I would like to think I would do neither of those things, and simply treat him as a guest student;, someone I already know as opposed to the leagues of weekly strangers coming into the community college movement studio.  This has been a very mixed bag, lately, and not totally in a good way, but that's the subject for another post.

As he got on his train, he turned to me and said, "Goodnight, Sensei."  That stuck with me for a long time, and it occurred to me he might be the only person left at the old place who still thought that way.  Still, I am not sure what I would do.  I guess I will wait and see if he ever shows up (which, if history is any guide is unlikely - nothing personal, it's just that people rarely seem to do what they say they will do).  Then decide if the "host and guest" metaphor would work in this situation.