ALEX GRIFFITH, 5, loses his balance standing in line with his fellow students. He chews on his white belt, the symbol of beginner in the martial art of tae kwon do. And in the midst of a highly disciplined class, he breaks into song.
Alex, alarmingly frail and sometimes lost in his own world, possesses the heart of a lion and is my new inspiration.
At a decided crossroads in my 30 years of studying and teaching tae kwon do, a Korean martial art, Alex has also emerged as my new challenge. And he is a reminder that courage defies definition, that we learn as we teach.
I'm privileged to instruct about 40 wonderful students - senior black belts to beginners - in Jarrettsville for Harford County's Department of Parks and Recreation. They include children, teen-agers, adults, Junior Olympic gold medalists, state champions, former street fighters and people searching to conquer themselves.
Alex inspires me for many reasons, one of which is that there's no quit in him. His parents could drape the cloak of victimhood over him and lead him down a road of excuses. But they, and Alex, have chosen a more difficult path.
Unknown to him, I have borrowed from that strength because of a chronic health problem of my own - a spine that belongs in the Smithsonian. I have experienced two devastating injuries, igniting a wicked pain I quietly curse every day.
Perhaps one of the most frustrating aspects of condition is I cannot exercise as I did. Every week, I devoted three days to weights and aerobics training in the gym and two nights at tae kwon do practice.
Resuming even a milder workout schedule is on hold until the three surgeons guiding my future can get me feeling better. I find no consolation in the fact that bad backs are the second most prevalent health problem in the country, behind the common cold.
In rainy or cold weather, I take a while to get out of bed. I cannot put a sock or shoe on my left foot without a struggle. The hip resists mightily.
I take medication and am scheduled for another surgical procedure. An existing hole in my spine will be surgically drilled larger to make room for a pinched nerve that transmits a vicious pain from my two disappearing discs to my left side - a torment that feels as though inflicted by a rusty bayonet.
An earlier surgical procedure, killing four nerves, eased the pain in my lower back but did nothing for my hip.
My students understand my condition and my frustration. In class, I resemble more of a football coach than a more active instructor. I manage to lead class and warm-ups and stay on the floor for the two-hour class, while clusters of students work on forms, fighting, kicking and falling. I am extremely proud of my senior belts, who are becoming magnificent teachers.
People, my doctors included, ask me why I still teach. The power walk calls; is bingo far behind? My response is simple: I need that association with my students and the art. It is a passion, a part of me.
Tae kwon do remains one of the few good pieces I brought home from the wreckage of Vietnam. It has prevailed over the sensory memories of burning diesel fuel, rotting jungle floors and the metallic stink of blood in the evacuation hospital where the Hueys brought in the boys screaming for their mothers or God.
Dear brothers, and the art. That was all.
In my three decades of study and teaching, my passion for tae kwon do took me to tournaments where I met some of the finest competitors in the nation. They were grand in technique and humility, which can be disarming.
Along the way, I've been blessed to teach self-defense to blind children, women victimized by criminal attacks, police officers and representatives of government agencies. I've been fortunate participate in some memorable exhibitions, for audiences ranging from people at the Korean Festival in Baltimore to the toughest crowd of all - prisoners at the House of Correction at Jessup and the Baltimore City Jail.
I have maintained my affiliation with the international and national federations that govern tae kwon do. (Tae kwon do is an Olympic sport, and most schools operate under the aegis of the United States Taekwondo Union and United States Olympic Committee). Black belts are registered in South Korea by the World Taekwondo Federation (WTF).
Altered priorities
While the link to these organizations is important, I have drifted away from local professional schools because, simply, many changed their priorities over the years as tae kwon do became more of a sport than a way of life.
Excellent and committed instructors remain in all the martial arts styles, but consideration of the profit margin at many schools has overtaken the tenets of the art - humility, patience, indomitable spirit. Have these qualities become anachronistic in America's modern culture?
You want a first-degree black belt? Sign the contract's dotted line and, in some schools, the prestigious rank is yours in two years. In the worst kind of dumbing down and lowering of expectations, no one fails a promotion test. Some schools charge a fee for birthday parties on the same floors where they hold training.
And ego, supposedly buried with tenure, wrongly inflates some people in the art. One instructor who comes to mind made grand entrances at tournaments with an entourage of loyalists, walking single file behind him, carrying his belongings.
Obviously, no master or instructor has been nominated for sainthood. I ascended only to altar boy. Parents and students should not have impossible expectations.
But an effective martial arts teacher - one open to change, yet tied to the art's deep history - should expand his or her goals to improve lives through the many paradoxes and contradictions of the East.
While learning to fight and shatter boards or concrete, a student searching for confidence can realize lasting self-improvement. For example, a female student fractured her nose earlier this month while fighting. Two nights later, she was back at practice, with some precautions.
Some might view this as barbaric. But will the odds be in this woman's favor in a street-survival situation? Absolutely.
"If I look at a school and the first thing I see are trophies, I don't have to guess what the priority is," says third-dan black belt Jerry Norman. "The most important thing an instructor can do is have a positive impact on the lives of their students. If the training is demanding and consistent, people will learn to defend themselves well and lose that insecurity we all have."
Though inexperienced, profit-minded instructors contribute to the art's negative image, many manage to keep their schools successful. Master Joe LaFrance in Annapolis instructs police officers and underprivileged children in his school. Master Chang Hoon Yi is a superb teacher at his dojang, or school, in Carney. There are others.
Says John Anderson, a 70-year-old judo master in Catonsville and self-described purist: "The martial arts profiteers say we have absorbed too much of the Asian culture - training the slow, correct way is incompatible with today's instant gratification attitude in our country. I contend you should train and teach for the love of doing it. And there is only one way: the long, hard road."
Master Chang Se Yong, president of the Maryland Tae Kwon Do Association and a practitioner for 40 years, explains that too many instructors "have no roots. They have no qualifications for teaching or promoting their students. To them, it is just a source of money."
More than 15,000 students sanctioned by the WTF practice tae kwon do in Maryland, Master Chang says; 45 million practice worldwide. "These are students taught by qualified master instructors," he says. "Most people think of kicks and breaking concrete. But true tae kwon do foundation centers around the physical, mental and spiritual parts of the student."
For a child like Alex, growth can be surprising and enduring. But the sad truth is that many schools would not have the patience or the ability to work with such a high-maintenance child. Besides, how many trophies could Alex win?
Alex spent the first year of his life in a cramped, filthy crib in Siberia. Born prematurely, he was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and possible mental retardation. He received virtually no stimulation, was malnourished and had rickets.
Since his adoption by Dwight and Jennifer Griffith of Forest Hill, he has first, and most importantly, been given love. Alex has made progress also with the help of doctors at Johns Hopkins Hospital.
"When I first laid eyes on Alex, I cried, because I had finally met my son," Dwight Griffith said. "I had pictures of him on my bathroom mirror while we were going through the adoption process, long before we left for Siberia."
Pediatric specialists say Alex suffers from impulsivity and attention disorder, and he wrestles with sensory integration - the process of the brain that organizes and interprets information. To teach him in tae kwon do class requires absolute focus, by both of us.
To learn, his parents and doctors say, Alex needs structure, discipline, repetition and concentration. He needs to practice body awareness, and he requires constant support on the floor during class.
Alex was welcomed into Jarrettsville's tae kwon do class, held at North Bend Elementary School Monday and Wednesday. Children, teen-agers and adults recognized something special in him.
Combining old and new
"Our class is old-style in some ways and up-to-date in others with things like training methods and sports medicine," said Brad Helm Sr., a second-dan black belt, like his son Brad Jr. "When I trained in Korea, it was on a dirt floor with no heat. I liked that, because it built character. The instructors did it from the heart. It's the same here in our class."
That's why, Helm says, "I enjoy working with Alex. He's a beautiful child and can use all the help we can give him. Sure, it's tough teaching him, but we are tae kwon do black belts. We don't give up."
At first, there was doubt that Alex could cope with the strict class environment, as well as concern that he might be disruptive. In his second class, he bolted from line without permission. But Alex is treated as an equal. If he intentionally messes up, he does push-ups. He is a "special" child only in our hearts, and that can be extremely difficult to camouflage.
After several weeks, Alex was a class fixture and growing with every kick and punch. Even the cluster of beginners who started with Alex - glowing children like Emily, Greg and Corinne - cheered for him when they ran wind sprints.
"It's remarkable that he stays interested for such a long period of time in class," said Alex's father, a Harford County builder. "He is following instructions. He gets excited the nights classes are held."
The picture of Alex on the training floor, and the solid support he receives in class, flies in the face of Hollywood's world of martial arts - the spectacular flying side kicks of Jackie Chan, the slick leg sweeps of Steven Segal. Practice sessions over years, injuries such as broken jaws (I always say Muhammad Ali and I have something in common) and mind-numbing repetition aren't dramatic enough to make millions at the box office.
Battles in the pay-per-view Ultimate Fighting Championships, full blood and boast and conducted in screened-in competition bins, are wildly popular with living room Ninjas and samurai wannabes. Enjoy head butts with your Doritos, right there in your living room.
But true martial arts were designed by the original masters as difficult work to last a lifetime, not an anything-goes blood sport. The ultimate aim is an intricate and long-term examination of violence leading to non-violence. But when violence is unavoidable, strike first and with a swift finality.
Traditional tae kwon do is an Olympic event like judo, the art of throwing, falling and mat work. Unlike wrestling, judo includes choke holds and limb-breaking techniques.
At Jarrettsville, we teach students Olympic-style fighting while not abandoning hand techniques, as has become popular in some schools. My students also learn hap-ki-do, or self-defense, and basic judo. Mixed with the physical are lessons on related topics such as anatomy, proper diet and the legal responsibilities of using what can be a deadly art.
We also discuss Eastern thought, and our guest speakers have included two recipients of the Medal of Honor, a doctor and writers. Basics of the Korean language are taught, and our annual summer picnic features large portions of kimchi, the fiery Korean cabbage.
While developing a controlled warrior ethic, students are encouraged to do well in their school subjects. I examine their report cards and - in concert with their parents - reward the pursuit of top grades.
Unlike some schools where instructors are not qualified to perform first aid or CPR, our school requires our senior belts to be well acquainted with basic medical skills.
Tae kwon do has changed from the early days described by Brad Helm Sr. - when dojangs were revered, sacred places.
Giving something back
In my first search for a legitimate Korean master in the Baltimore area, I walked into the dojang of Master Han Young Kim and discovered huge holes in the walls of the training area.
"That," Master Kim of the Blue Dragons explained, "is where students didn't have good defense. You block correctly, and you don't fly into wall."
I'll take the lessons I've learned, and I'll continue to give my students the best from those experiences. I look forward to telling Alex of another of my experiences in the art. That was when my first instructor in Vietnam, Sgt. Kang Joo, fashioned my first tae kwon do uniform from a bedsheet.
He taught me not to be embarrassed when I fell backward on the rock-hard ground during my initial promotion test. He was kind, and he was a machine whose clenched fist will never leave my memory. It looked like a potato, no knuckles, just a tool of efficiency.
When I drift to those days, I get connected to the essence of the art that I've chased across a major portion of my life. I realize there will be no greater reward than if Alex tells me one day, "Sir, you changed my life."
Sergeant Kang would be proud. Another circle will be complete.
Joe Nawrozki, a reporter for The Sun, is an internationally ranked fifth-dan tae kwon do master.
Pub Date: 11/15/98