Having a Secret Makes a Student Feel Special

     When I was teaching Ninjutsu back in 1997 I remember having some difficulty motivating my partners to push themselves and maintain a daily regimen. It was hard for me to understand why they couldn't keep up with me back then, even when I openly invited them to train alongside me. Looking back, I realize what the missing element was that finally got them interested in really going for it.
     The fact that the student's lives were inundated with other daily responsibility had nothing to do with their lack of motivation in training. It wasn't that they couldn't find time to train, it was that they didn't see the value in it. In other words, they wouldn't find time.
     The value of their ninja training was built into the training itself. This was apparent, because I loved every second of it! Where the value lied was what was being overlooked. When I sat back and used my imagination, I could see the kids in class asking one another, "What is so exciting about learning Jay's Ninjutsu?" and it was then, that I pinpointed what that was.
     It was the secret. The techniques, though cool as they are, were not what created value in my lifelong training. No. The value was in possessing the secret. The secret is, 'I am a Ninja" and you are not. In the knowing that they possessed abilities that their friends may find envious, or simply in knowing that they had a secret identity was where inlay the passion.
     I felt special in a way because I knew that the midnight before I was wading through water in my ninja gear, doing something that maybe pressed the limits of social acceptance. Though I may have been simply exploring and practicing my aruki, maybe harmlessly trespassing on someones 100 acre farm, it made me feel a sense of owning some type of experience that no one else did. I was actually doing it- being a ninja.
     That was around the time that I decided to offer my students a taste of the real ninja experience. I brought the training outside. It had been during the day, but I would jog them, in full ninja gear (masks pulled down), to some of the nearby waterholes or cliffs and do some drilling. They would be jumping from heights they never knew possible, swimming in waters so cold they may freeze, and getting their tabis into some mud so thick it was like quicksand.
     The training was difficult, but the marked change in the kids' perception of who they were was worth every second. They became more confident. Some became so confident, in fact, that they began asking about nighttime ninja missions and claiming that they were ready. Of course, they weren't ready to face live opponents, especially at night in hostile territory, but a few of them were like teenagers to the members who relied on the belief that they were true ninjas. The more confident students became blatantly obnoxious. They would try and knock the shine off of the members who played along with the ninja dream. The confident members would tease the less coordinated and harder-working children by telling them that there was no real ninja mission.
      Though I was a only young adult myself, I knew the importance and magic of belief. I had a big brother who, one Christmas, told me a story of how he saw Santa Clause's black boots through the banisters one night. As adults, I know now that he probably already knew the truth about the red man and he was simply helping me retain the magic as long as possible. The memory, is something that I still hold dear. We all knew that there was no real ninja clan or rival ninja clan for that matter, but pretending that there was made the training special to us. So I did the only thing a teacher could do to put those confident ones back in check. I created a real ninja mission.

 


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