For those grieving on Father’s Day.
Note: This was written on the 5th anniversary of my Sensei’s passing.
Being a sensei, I see it more clearly that each student has their own connection to their teacher. A combination of your own narrative, meeting their narrative, and shared experiences. As you read this, please note it is mine, not yours. Every hero is someone’s villain, and every villain is someone’s hero.
The same goes for parents.
Five year old me thought my father was the sun. Yet, I would never be good enough for him. This connection, or lack of connection, created a space in my life that I would find Stickles Sensei in.
I’m sure when he met me, he hadn’t a clue what to do with me. A year before joining, I’d come to watch noon class and bring him and my friend coffee. I had no desire to do aikido. I never felt the need to do it. At that point in his career, he must have seen a lot of quirky types of people come into his dojo.
When I did decide to join, I remember he came up to me in the middle of class and asked me why I finally joined. I told him someone threatened me with a knife. He walked away, came back, and tossed my partner for tsuki kotegaeshi as an example how to defend yourself specifically with a knife and never spoke about it again. In that typical sensei trope, he really didn’t say much to me in the early days.
He made us read two chapters in, “The Tibetan book of Living and Dying” and write an essay on why we wanted to be a deshi. We’re all sitting around and he’s being his eccentric self. He’s shuffling through papers, making comments about stuff we said, and how being a deshi will work with it. Then he says, and “then there was this zinger!” He flips through some papers, and says, “The search for my center, will make my the eye of my own storm. POW!!!” He loved to be theatrical and “POW” was something I recall often from him. At the time, I was embarrassed, I’m very shy when it comes to writing. Now I realize the importance of it.
For those who don’t know what being a deshi is like, it’s a combination of being the best personal assistant and maid at the same time. “But what about the hard training?” you ask? It’s not what you think. It’s where sensitivity in training is practiced. If you can notice something dusty or out of place, you’ll notice nuances in your techniques. For the personal assistant part you’re practicing blending. Sensei would hate people who were up his rear, and was happiest when things were done without saying anything. Like Iaido. He didn’t tell us we had to do Iaido. He said, “I’m not telling you, you HAVE to do it, but Chiba Sensei required you did two years of it to train with him. I did two years.”
He didn’t give you a secret to how to do aikido better. You just did it more and got better. To be frank, there’s a good chunk of the deshi experience that sucks. I found myself alone in the dojo too often, cleaning and practicing how to roll (it took me over a year to figure out how to roll). And superficially, there weren’t rewards. He was cold and tough in the beginning. Every kyu test, I’d look for feedback and it was nothing positive. (Which is important later because you need to fail to get good).
The turning point was my first kyu test. I dreaded testing because I frankly I hate testing. At that point in my life, I was on the path to become an aikido teacher to help the dojo be successful. It was just a step to get me closer to being a black belt, so parents who signed their children up would see I was qualified. (Almost a black belt doesn’t work for parents.)
I knocked it out of the park. I remember he came up to me right after and his mind was blown. It was the Well frog and the Ocean frog moment*. I’d hear things like, “How did she know that technique? I never taught her that.” He had me wear my hakama when we traveled (prior to black belt). Which also meant I got more chances to go places, instead of waiting for our minimum rotation.
Then Jack, Matt and I took our black belt test in NYA. I had the three of us pitch in and get him a fancy gi top from Tozando. (Sensei’s back would sometimes freeze from a cold sweaty gi). I screwed up ordering it, so instead of saying “Shihan Stickles” in a normal size font. It said SHIHAN STICKLES in the largest font. It cracks me up now, but he wore it as a house coat. He hung up the photo of the three of us in his office.
At the time we connected, his life was Aikido, Golf, and chocolate. Not mentioned a strong love for his wife Cathy and meditation. He was one of the first and one of the few full time Aikido instructors. He used to tell me the story about meeting a mediation teacher in London and where he asked about his conflict between his love for aikido and work. And the teacher’s answer was, why not both? His path was by no means perfect and something I always appreciated was he could be very honest about. He struggled, but kept moving on. Something that was relatable to me.
We were in the car one day and he got a phone call where the man on the other side was livid. I only know because he was loud enough to hear him through Sensei’s flip phone. He pulled over, spoke to him and in 10 minutes, he verbally redirected the other man’s rage to neutral agreement. That’s when I realized how talented he was at aikido. Aikido to him had transcended the physical space and been a tool to function in today’s world. O’Sensei is quoted with saying “Aikido is medicine to heal a sick world.” I had just witnessed it.
My exact turning point I’m not clear on, however that car ride stuck with me. Shortly after, I made the leap to be a full time aikido instructor. I found a joy and talent in what I was doing. Earlier on I found myself directionless and the more I poured in the dojo the more clarity I found. I remember how excited Sensei was, even more so when I said I wanted to learn how to golf. It was this bizarre parallel to the relationship abandoned by my biological father. We weren’t friends, yet would have fun adventures. (The time we snuck into Galloping Hill’s new building just to see all the new construction.) I was scolded a few times and celebrated on others.
I cried hard the day I found out he died. I was single, isolated, and honestly at one of those low points right before things get better. It was a painful moment that still lingers. Shortly after, I went to New York with Jerry Sensei and broke down in class because he did a “Rick-like technique”. Last summer camp I cried in front of Demko Sensei while watching Kennedy Sensei do ki musubi no tachi, a favorite of Stickles Sensei that he and I would do when we traveled for seminars.
During the time of this pandemic, it’ll be five years since he’s gone. I’ve been a career sensei for over six years and working towards building my own space. Frankly, I feel insane. It’s like I’m running towards the storm while others are running away. Part of me wants to hear how he would navigate through that chaos which is now, to look for advice from him. The other part realizes I can’t. We need faith in the skills passed on for forward movement. The past is a stepping stone not a sinking stone. You hold on to the memories and remember fundamental lessons along the way.
