One of my martial arts friends posted a
picture of him practicing with a katana, a Japanese sword, in his
living room. Reminded me of the many times I did the same.
Training! To learn you must practice
and when there was no place else I would move the furniture and
practice in the living room - I did this at least a hundred times...
with a wood sword, with a practice swords and at times with real steel.
I tried to be careful, that is the goal
of discipline but at times my enthusiasm got the best of me and
something got hit. I put a couple of dents in the ceiling and wall.
Cut into a lamp shade once with a real sword... opps, I wasn't
married at the time so didn't have to admit that to anyone.
There are two great stories about
swords in the living room, the first was in the early 1980s. It was
mid summer, a Saturday, a warm day, all the windows were open and the
light drapes floated in the breeze. I was wearing a light cotton
yukata with shorts, summer wear in Japan. I had just purchased a
real Japanese sword, a gunto, a sword manufactured in the 1940s for
use by officers during World War II just a few days previous. I had the sword on a low coffee
table and had sword books spread across the table. I had a notebook
with notes about the length of the various components and the various
features.
And there comes a knock, knock, knock,
on the screen door.
I get up and walk barefoot to the door,
there standing a young man, well dressed with a brief case. He says
he is an insurance salesman. I try to dismiss him, but he is
persistent so I give in and invite him in. I invite him to sit down
on the sofa and I walk over on the other side of the coffee table and
kneel down Japanese style, which I sit in quite normally. The young
salesman begins his canned lecture about the different kinds of
accident insurance that he had for sale: there was a silver, gold
and platinum plan. As he talked he was simultaneously looking over
the sword, the books, the notes, my clothing and was getting more
anxious by the second. He asked, “is that a real sword?” with a wavering voice. I
replied, “yes”. “Do you know how to use that sword?” I
replied, “yes”. He was tittering, not sure what he was saying,
repeating himself, laughing strangely. He really looked like he
wanted to leave. I thanked him for his time, he looked relieved to
be dismissed, I showed him to the door. I think he peed on the gate
post or left some other message because I didn't get another salesman
at my door for decades.
But the best story happened one evening
during the fall when Brittany was 16 or 17 years of age. Her mother
and I were divorced and she was at her mother's house this day. I
was practicing with a mugito, a zinc practice sword, looks for all
like a real sword, it is dangerous but not dangerous, not sharp,
like a real sword. There is a groove along both sides of the blade
that makes a most satisfying swoosh when it is swung in a proper
manner.
I had moved the furniture and had been
practicing for the better part of an hour, hundreds of cuts, my
t-shirt was soaked with sweat and I am breathing hard. I hear the
front door open and am aware of my daughter, she has seen me train
many times and knows that I will acknowledge her as I complete the
current drill. So I continued to focus on the drill set I was
working on... from a kneeling position, draw, overhead cut with a
satisfying swoosh, chiburi (ceremoniously remove the blood), rise to
standing, and re-sheath the blade.... I turn around and face my
daughter, she is with another girl and two boys, standing there
deathly quiet, pretty much holding their breath, you could just see
the amazement in their eyes. I know that went around school... kind
of like meeting the daughter's date with a shotgun! Priceless.
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