The sound of thumps and laughter

Once a week I train with a colleague in New Jersey. We divide the time between his teaching me a style of iai that he does, and I teach what I do. We have a lot of fun and learn a lot, and in between we swap lore and stories.

The class starts at 9:00pm, a time when most people are settling down to a news analysis program or two, having cleared up from dinner. Most people, I expect, at that hour, are more or less winding down from the day. 9:00pm sounds like a crazy time to start a practice session, but for me, it's perfect: come home, do something about dinner, maybe a chore or two, jump in the car around 8:00pm - a little early for the start time, but I like to allow for traffic, etc.

I get there generally around 8:30-8:40, so I get to watch the end of the Daito ryu class. Daito ryu is one of the forerunners of aikido, a form of grappling that is highly effective with minimal effort. (Theoretically, at least. This is a beginners' class, and the newbies put much more effort into it than they need to, but I digress.) The Daito class takes up about 1/2 of the floor, while usually a karate class is taking place on the other half at the same time. The teacher spends most of his time with the Daito group, but steps in to correct the karate group from time to time (did I mention this guy is multi-talented?).

Anyway, the other night I came in and crossed the floor to the rest room to change my clothes. From the other side of the closed door I could hear the predictable thump of bodies hitting the mat, whether from the karate class practicing disarms or the Daito class unbalancing people. And I heard a great deal of something else - laughter. Laughter - from the instructor making a point with some sort of witty aphorism, or someone making a silly mistake, or (usually) some combination of both. Both of these groups are necessarily small, to be able to use the same space at the same time, but they are also harmonious - they enjoy each other's company and their practice time together.

Some time ago, I wrote about how the students in a dojo reflect the teacher - if the teacher is a clod or thug, the students will reflect that. If the teacher is sneaky, plays favorites and likes to manipulate people, ditto. If s/he entertains a fantasy about being a modern warrior out of some anime comic, yes, the students will share it. On the other hand, if the teacher is open and generous, very often the students will be the same (though not always; unfortunately, opportunists can find fertile ground for disruption in an open-hearted dojo, but not if the teacher is vigilant). Another colleague I spoke with recently agreed - "You should have a good time at practice. Beware of the places where everyone is deadly serious all the time. If the students aren't having a good time, there's a problem there."

This does not mean that the teacher is ignoring the discipline of practice. Frequently my colleague will use some gentle (or not so-gentle) humor to bring his Daito or karate students, whose technique practice has drifted "off topic" - whether from long-winded explanations by the sempai or too much repetition of the setup to a technique - back down to earth with a deceptively simple takedown or disarm. People laugh, but they get the point. They refocus their attention and the work goes on.

I totally enjoy these late-night practices, even though I get home some time just short of midnight, with an early morning work call the next day. Sometimes I've had so much fun I can't sleep. Sometimes I can't sleep because I am reviewing the techniques I've just learned in my head, something I have not done since I was a raw beginner. And I try to bring that sense of gentle humor to the classes that I teach the next day. My late night workouts aren't just improving my technique, they're improving ME.