Whether it's "Once upon a time..." or "To be or not to be..." children of all ages, as we are fond of saying, love a good story.

Below follows a delightful parable by Fritz Amer, a talented writer/storyteller who happens to practice aikido and who also happens to be the mother of a five-year old daughter. Through gentle, insightful humor, Ms. Amer spins a tale that promotes ideals of harmony, cooperation and tolerance.

Whether you tell this story to your children at bedtime or to the kids in your dojo's youth class, or if you post it in your dojo, we think you will appreciate its universal applicability. Our thanks to Fritz for granting permission to share it with you.

Misogi the Bear
Once upon a time there were two brown bears: Misogi and Budo. They were cousins and the best of friends. But Misogi never trained at Budo's dojo and Budo never trained at Misogi's. Such a strange situation arose in this way:

Misogi cleaned her dojo day and night. Every speck of dust or grimy student received no quarter but was attacked; with soap and water, brushes and rags; with a vigor usually reserved for one's fiercest enemy. Her dojo gleamed so brightly that all her students developed permanent squints.

Budo, on the other hand, deemed cleaning a waste of time and did as little as possible, and sometimes less. His gi turned as brown as peanut butter. Dust accumulated in the dojo's corners. After a time, the dust bunnies grew so large that they had to be released into the wild. Budo frequently ate his meals while teaching and during the rough-and-tumble of practice his food sometimes landed on the mat.

Whenever Budo used to visit Misogi at her dojo his skin would prickle from the disinfectant used to scrub the walls and his eyes would smart from the billows of air freshener she squirted about. Besides, it was very cold in the dojo in winter because Misogi washed her windows so vigorously that she wore holes through the glass.

On her side, Misogi could tolerate Budo's grimy mat and the grimier students. She was only a little startled when the dust bunnies nipped at her ankles, but the day a piece of jujenage got stuck between her toes she swore she'd never return.

With styles so different, it is not to be wondered at that the bears did not train together. But the cousins, while not estranged, couldn't share the delights of training with each other and this bothered them greatly. One day while sipping cups of sankyo at Starbuck's, they discussed their differences and came to the conclusion that they should try therapy.

First, they tried Primal Grunt Therapy; then they went to a 12-step program called Slob Anon. When these didn't pan out they gave aversion therapy, and even hypnosis a shot. All to no avail.

"Drag," said Budo.
"Major drag," said Misogi.
"Now what?" they exclaimed.
"Have you heard of Panda Sensei?"
"Yes, let us travel to China and consult with her."

They donned their cleanest gis. Misogi's was so white that she looked like a bear in a blizzard and Budo, well - at least, he didn't smell.

Then they boarded the plane and found that the seats were 2 inches smaller than their behinds, they only got one bag of nuts apiece and the in-flight movie was "The Karate Kid V".

"Drag," said Misogi.
"Major drag," said Budo.

When they arrived in China they headed straight to Panda Sensei's dojo located on the busiest and noisiest street in Peking. But the bicycle bells, traffic noise, shouting voices and barking dogs were not heard in the serenity of the dojo for it was a place of clear thought and right action. Panda Sensei sat cross-legged in the center of this quietude, a beatific expression on her old, wise face.

The two large brown bears felt awkward in the presence of such ancient grace but Panda Sensei motioned them to draw near and tell her all about it. And tell her they did! Non-stop for 45 minutes they poured out all their woe.

At the end of the recital Panda Sensei sighed deeply, nodded knowingly and said, "Ahhhhhhh!
They waited ears pricked expectantly. Panda Sensei smiled serenely and bowed farewell.

Once outside the dojo they exchanged dejected looks.

"Drag," said Budo.
"Major drag," said Misogi.

They scratched their heads and searched their hearts all the way home.

"Do you think that it meant anything?"
"Must have, don't you think?"

The next day Budo fell ill with the Perking Blues - an intense sickness of short duration. For a week he was unable to teach his classes. Misogi being the good cousin and dedicated Aikidoist that she was, spent half her time teaching at her dojo and half her time at Budo's.

After a week Budo returned and Misogi was hit by a bad case of the ouch-my-knee-hurts. And she was laid up for a week while Budo took his turn teaching at both dojos.

When he walked into his dojo he resumed his usual mode of instruction. But soon he began to notice subtle but distinct differences in his students' technique. They were much improved since he last saw them. At first he attributed this to his cousin's superior teaching style until he found himself demonstrating the techniques at a higher level of ability than usual.

It was then that he noticed how easily and smoothly everyone's feet moved on the mat, whereas before there had been a slight sticking problem. The mat no longer squelched at each footstep! And besides that, there were no more of those hard pointy little crumbs that dug into their insteps. What an improvement a little Misogi made!

When Misogi returned she didn't fail to notice many small, but telling differences in her dojo, too. Things like the faint streaks on her windows and the fading of the brightness of her mat. And just as she was heading for the cleaning supply closet she realized that her students had stopped squinting. The sunlight filtered by the clean but not pristine windows settled gently into the room. The Aikidoists eyes focussed outward and their intentions became as directed as their gazes.

Misogi and Budo looked at each other in surprise and said, "Ahhhhh!'

"Cool," said Misogi.
"Way cool," said Budo.

 
© 1999 Rita F. Amer