Like a lot of other kids growing up, I got picked on a lot. You know, like when your peers call you names, pull pranks on you…stuff like that. I was a shy kid and not very confident; two personality traits that didn’t help matters much. So, in my freshman year of high school, I decided to do something about it and joined the wrestling team. I’m sure my parents were a little surprised since I had never really shown an interest in sports, but I thought this would be a way for me to make new friends and get out of my shell. Fortunately for me, computers and video games didn’t exist back then, so there was no virtual world to go and hide in, no online community. Acceptance had to be earned. My first attempt didn’t go so well.
Not only was I shy, I was also very fearful of physical confrontation. So, yeah, wrestling…there’s a bright idea. How hard can it be? REALLY hard if you didn’t grow up participating in the sport like a lot of the guys on my team had. Even harder if you didn’t have an ounce of athletic ability, tenacity, grit and competitiveness. Not to mention the fact that I was, shall we say, chubby. Chubby guys in a polyester wrestling singlet were not exactly chick magnets. And my fear of getting hurt and embarrassed were a detriment to the team. If you are not familiar with the rules, points scored during single bouts add up for the team. In wrestling terms, I was a fish; I always ended up on my back and flopped around a lot.
As I recall, the head coach had grown up playing football and was also an excellent wrestler. I believe he wrestled in collage and actually wasn’t a whole lot older than us, but he was a tough dude. Wrestling is not a sport for the timid; it takes a tremendous amount of skill, strength and the drive not to give up or give in. And, it takes courage. Again, all attributes I sorely lacked. And for my part, I didn’t give it a 100%. I did not possess the discipline to make weight, which involves a lot of “push-aways”…push away from the table. And when pressed, I gave up. The coach saw all this and I think in his own way, he tried to light a fire under me. I remember not having a ride home after practice one night and he looked at me and yelled, “You’re fat, Magliano…run home!” Can you imagine the uproar a statement like that would cause today? Police would be alerted. The government would be contacted. Bank accounts frozen. National Guard called in.
At the end of the school year, I went to the coach’s office to get a copy of the individual and team pictures. He handed me the photos and said something that hurt my feelings almost as much as when he told me to run home in front of my teammates: “You only did this for the pictures,” he said. I was angry. I wanted to be acknowledged for participating. “I did my best,” I told him. His response: “No, I don’t think you did.” I actually went back to the team in my sophomore year but my grades were poor and I ended up having to quit. To his credit, the coach offered to have me workout with the team once I got my grades up, but I never went back. And, I never forgot the things he said to me.
One important skill I gleaned from my time on the wrestling team was running. I actually enjoyed it and started to run on my own on a regular basis. And every time I felt like stopping and walking, I remembered what coach said: “You’re fat, Magliano…run home!” I wanted to prove to him, my peers and most importantly to myself that I wasn’t a quitter. I started working out a lot, lifting weights and hitting a punching bag. A couple of years later, I joined a martial arts school, trained hard and fought...a lot. I never really overcame my fear of getting hit, I just learned how to deal with it. And there were plenty of times during my training as well as during military service that I wanted to quit. Then I remembered what coach said: “You’re only here for the pictures.” I’d get pissed all over again, and I’d push through.
I must admit, I have difficult time trying to understand phrases like, “hate speech” and “safe place” that are so prevalent in our culture today. People’s lives and careers have been destroyed because of…words. When I was kid, I got bullied. When I say, “bullied,” I mean punched on the bus, shoved into lockers, books knocked out of my hands. Today, bullied means someone commented about your hair on Facebook. Now, are there certain things that are completely inappropriate to say, things like slurs and disparaging comments about faith, choice and other social issues? Of course. We don’t have much of a society if we don’t have verbal boundaries and behavioral expectations. But when did expressing an opinion become such a problem?
My wrestling coach’s opinion of me was accurate. I did not understand what it meant to be on a team, I did not give my 100% and I was out of shape to say the least. Did he hurt my 14-year-old feelings? Sure. But if he hadn’t called me out, I wonder if I would have chosen the path that I’ve been on for the last 40 years. Doubtful. Sometimes it’s good to have someone bring your faults to light. In the end, you have the choice to act on such comments or ignore them. You cannot ignore a punch to the face, but you can definitely brush off a comment. Or, perhaps reflect on it.
During hard training sessions in our dojo, I’ve made it a point to call people out when I know they can do something better. Things like raising their butts up to ease the tension during push-ups, giving half-hearted punches or providing little or no resistance as a throwing partner. I've been doing this a while and I can tell when someone is training at home and when they're not and I let them know. I say things and give my honest opinion at the risk of losing a student or two and that’s ok. Believe it or not, it comes from a place of love and the desire to have that person excel. Teachers and coaches who never put you on the spot really don’t care about you. I learned this in Japan, where teachers made corrections on such minute and tedious details as the grip I had on a wooden sword, the direction of my foot, where my shoulders sat. If I made a mistake, sensei would utter the word, dame, which means something akin to "useless." This was accompanied by a look of contempt. However, I noticed the “weekend warrior” students received little or no attention at all. And they were content with that. They were just there for the picture.
Want an old man’s advice? Well, you’ve made it this far. Learn and develop the all important skill of taking criticism, especially if you don’t agree with it. There’s always a grain of truth if you’re willing to look for it.
Dave Magliano
Tatsu Dojo
Jissenkan Budo
Dojo Cho
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