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Apr
19
Mentors
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I’ve had a few mentors in my life–those people who take you under their wing and help guide you. I had a business mentor that helped me get started with my jiu-jitsu school, she just encouraged me and gave me advice; it was very helpful.
I’ve been a mentor, maybe not in the official sense, but by helping the lost find their way, being a high school teacher sets you up to mentor; it’s built into the job.
Mr. Kawamora was my third grade teacher, Japanese-American, diminutive but strong and intelligent. He was a great fan of judo, and when he found out my mother had enrolled my sister and me in judo classes, he donated his older daughter’s gi to me.
Mr. Kawamora would ask me how my training in Judo was going and I would lie and say “Good.” I just didn’t like Judo—I was eight—and it wasn’t something cool like football or kung-fu—and break falls sucked, so I spent most of my judo practice daydreaming.
Buster Washington was the king of my elementary school when I was in the third grade—he was in fifth—the top of the food chain. He ruled his kingdom with an iron fist and wasn’t afraid to put that fist upside your head if you got out of line.
That year I got a brand new basketball for Christmas and even though my mom told me not to, I took it to school. Of course King Buster noticed the new ball and tried to take it during recess. I was afraid of Buster, but he was nothing compared to my mother who would have whipped me if she knew I took that ball to school.
Buster stood over me like a towering piece of black licorice.
“Hey man, let me see that ball.”
I knew if Buster got his hands on my ball I’d never get it back, so I did what any intelligent, self-preserving third-grader would do in that situation—I ran for my life. In the “fight or flight” equation, I chose flight. I think I caught Buster by surprise because he was still standing motionless while I rounded the corner to Mr. Kawamora’s classroom–I‘ve always been a chunky kid, but in extreme situations, I could run really fast.
On this day however, it wasn’t fast enough. Buster moved like a sleek, black velociraptor and pounced on me in the doorway of Mr. Kawamora’s classroom. His long black fingers smacking me in the face as I crossed the threshold to safety. I collapsed in the classroom holding my face. I saw Mr. Kawamora reading with a group of kids, so I really turned on the water works.
Mr. Kawamora slowly closed the book he was reading and walked over to me. He knelt down gently beside me and put his hand on my shoulder; in his mild manner he said “If you would have paid attention in judo class, you could have defended yourself.” He got up and returned to the group.
What? That was it? Wasn’t he going to do anything? I was dumfounded, shocked, and mentored. There was a very simple lesson in all this; I should have paid attention in class, and now I had learned the hard way.
Years later I sent Mr. Kawamora an invitation to my high school graduation party. I hadn’t spoken to him in ten years.
He showed up. I thanked him for teaching me a valuable lesson. He smiled.
A few years later he died of cancer. Mr. Kawamora was really a mentor to me, not just a third grade teacher, but someone who was trying to guide me in the right direction, and thirty years later I still appreciate it.
Mentors help make us.
great article mark