Suzanne Gonzales-Webb, Desert Aikikai
My first and only in-person test with Chiba Sensei at San Diego Aikikai was my 3rd kyu test. I remember reviewing techniques before the test and looking up at the office to see Sensei watching class through the window. He did this frequently before his classes at the dojo, especially before testing, to get a sense of the candidates.
The night before my test, Sensei stopped me as I was leaving the dojo — I carried my gi in a tote bag with calligraphy designed for Moving Centre Aikido in Ventura, California. Sensei recognized the calligraphy as his and wanted to know where I got the bag. I explained that I started training with Nobuo Iseri Sensei several years prior to moving to San Diego. Chiba Sensei nodded and then said, “you should start wearing hakama… do you have hakama?”
The day of the test, I was understandably nervous. It had been several years since my last test at my home dojo, I was wearing a hakama for the first time on the San Diego Aikikai mat, and in my head I wondered if I even had tied it on correctly. Third kyu has several technique requirements and of course I was testing in front of Sensei. I had never seen a test conducted at SDA, but I was present, I had studied, and I felt as ready as I could be.
The call for uke, the bow in toward Sensei then to my partner… so far so good. The first technique called was as expected, tachiwaza shomenuchi ikkyo… okay, another quick bow to my uke, then BAM. I was struck so hard by the first shomen, my block attempt failed, and I hit my skull with my own hand with such force that it sent my head spinning. My uke? Jaime Powers.
Each attack from Jaime was…
BAM… another shomen strike with the force of a Mack truck…
BAM… do not get hit again or you are going to black out…
BAM…is this how they test people in San Diego? What did I get myself into?
BAM… will I make it through the test if attacks keep coming like this?
BAM… no crying on the mat…
BAM… for God’s sake, pull yourself together…
BAM… Suzanne BLOCK the damn strike earlier…
Sometime during the middle of the test, Sensei called for a shomenuchi technique from suwariwaza position. My new uke was noticeably flustered as we were sitting in seiza directly in front of Sensei. The technique called was ikkyo. My uke and I faced each other and bowed… but instead of a shomen strike, my uke threw a right-handed yokomenuchi. I was exhausted, I was no longer thinking. I experienced an out-of-body moment and to my horror, my left hand raised to block the yokomen strike and my right hand proceeded to slap my uke in the face. Even more horrifying, I hissed thorough my teeth at my uke, “HE SAID SHOMEN!” My uke backed away, comically shaking his head from the slap, then returned a shomen strike and we continued with my test.
I knew at the sound of the slap that I failed my test. I had lost control. Sensei never flinched from his cushion. When it was my turn to stand up to hear the decision of my test, I continued to re-live the slap, the crisp sound still ringing in my mind… the loss of control. My head was already down as I received the expected, “Try again.”
After the tests, I was sitting on the far side of the mat with Matt, one of the newer kenshusei at the time. We were folding our hakama in silence. I looked up to see Sensei walking towards us. Sensei grunted, motioned to me to take an envelope from his hand, then he turned and walked away. With the envelope in my hand and slightly confused, I turned and looked at Matt.
“Does he usually do this…?”
Matt answered me with a wide-eyed shrug, “I dunno…”
“Do I open this now… can I open this now… should I wait…”
Again, Matt answered with a shrug, “I dunno…”
I looked up again as Sensei continued his stroll away from us and I opened the envelope. It contained a card which remarked on the martial quality of my test that he had not seen in some time… and an offer of personal training classes with him.
Back then I trained quite a bit, committing 10 to 15 hours a week. Sometimes I brought my kids with me to the dojo. I was fortunate to have Mrs. Chiba keep an eye on them while I trained. Sometimes the kids sat on the couch or slept on a zabuton just on the edge of the mat. As my kids got older, they stayed in the back room (the “kenshusei room”) and watched videos or did their homework. I trained as much as I could under the radar, but after my disaster of a test, I knew Sensei watched my progress through the office window.
In my 20-some years training in San Diego with Chiba Sensei he never asked me to test again, yet he saw everything I did on the mat. He would correct my movement silently during class with a small nod and then walk away, never with the familiar harsh yell “NO!” as he did with the kenshusei. I couldn’t tell you if he used this gentle correction with everyone, but it worked for me.
Sensei’s manner in developing his students, whether harsh or with tender guidance, successfully passed on a wealth of knowledge, passionately forging a commitment from his several generations of students in the art of Aikido. As his direct student or even as a student of his students, we’ve committed to learning the art and taking up Chiba Sensei’s mantle to lead in the connection of teacher-student relationships as we develop and teach our own students or kohai.
I enjoy training, aside from injuries, I always have. Other than being with my kids, training is my happy place. I smile; I find joy on the mat. I’ll think up anecdotes, usually funny ones, to remind me of something that I need to fix as I train with different partners… that will probably never change. Of course, there is martial tension while training and there should be — Aikido is a MARTIAL Art. Attacks are done in a controlled way when we practice so even in exhaustion we will respond to the attack. I guide my students in different ways as each of them learns differently, but there is mutual joy and occasional laughter in our vigorous training. We train with several partners, however individually we develop and forge our own connections by means of unexpected envelopes from our teachers, sempai, and our training partners. Whatever knowledge process works for your training or relationships on the mat I hope your instructor finds it and cultivates it, because there is more than just one way to the enjoyment of committing ourselves to the art of Aikido.