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Karate and the Big Chicken
At the age of eight, my son Josh took a karate class at the neighborhood community center with kids and adults of all levels. I would watch the tail end of the class when I picked him up, thinking, “I could do that.” One day, the instructor sat down beside me and asked me when I was going to join the class, so I took the leap.
After a year of weekly practice I finally moved up to the next level, where we were expected to learn to spar. Josh, like all the other boys, adored sparring. I, on the other hand, was dreading it. But learning to fight back was the whole point of self-defense, wasn’t it? As the instructor explained how to “X” the straps of the protective chest pad in the back, I joked nervously “I’d like to ‘exit’ over there,” pointing toward the door.
He assigned a young man about my height and weight to spar with me. With speed and precision, my sparring partner advanced toward me, ready to punch. Did I draw on my many months of drills to expertly block his strike, pivot away from the punch or counter with a kick? No, I did what any middle-aged chicken would do: I backed into the corner and let out such a deafening scream, I’m surprised none of my fellow students sued me for hearing loss.
The merciless instructor ordered me back into the sparring, at which point I lost any remaining composure. I started crying, right there in front of the entire class, including my child. At that point the instructor sent me to the sidelines, where I sat too mortified to even glance at my son, who I assumed would never want to be seen in public with me again in his life.
I soon felt a small hand on my shoulder. I looked up and to my surprise it was Josh. “Don’t worry, Mommy,” he reassured me, “nobody ever gets it right the first time.” I hadn’t learned to spar, much less won the match, but in trying I had set an example of perseverance and determination that had earned my boy’s compassion and respect, a much bigger prize than I could ever had expected from a community karate class.
“If you’re sitting there thinking…maybe I’m in the wrong pew?”
In 1992 I was 21 years old, putting my way through college working for the University of Iowa’s Advanced Technology Group, where I was focusing on the emerging CD-ROM technology. At the same time, I was finishing my undergraduate studies in the area of business. One of my final classes was “Entrepreneurship and New Venture Formation” taught by John Buchanan, an adjunct professor who had retired from a successful career as Founder of RBP, a Marsh & McLennan Company. On the first day of class I had arrived ten minutes early dressed in a suit, and noticed the class half-full of students in various stage of dress. John was already there preparing for the class. As the time arrived for class – and students were still trickling in – John opened with the following, “My name is John Buchanan and I’m your Instructor for this course. My expectation is that you will treat this course as if you are going to work – gentlemen and ladies, that means professional attire. I expect you to arrive a few minutes early so that you are ready to learn at the time the course begins. I expect you to have your homework done including all assigned reading, and I don’t accept any excuses, just as your boss at work would not accept any excuses for not having your work done on any day. I give very few ‘A’s’ because there are few ‘A’s’ in the business world. If you are sitting there thinking ‘maybe I’m in the wrong pew,’ now is your chance to drop the course.’ The next semester was the toughest, most insightful and most useful course I ever attended throughout my college experience. The final exam involved creating a business plan for a real-life business – to be evaluated by five community professionals. My business plan was to launch a CD-ROM company, which I presented and managed to secure investment from one of the community professionals. I successfully launched, managed and sold my business, in large part thanks to the education I received from John Buchanan.