Karate Kids Children As Well As Their Parents Learn Values And Discipline From Martial Art

Twelve children in white cotton pants and jackets kick into the air, filling the gray-carpeted karate center with the clean, sharp smell of kid sweat.

Eight-year-old Kelly Boubel shakes her red bob and gazes fiercely as she kicks and punches past her mother on the sidelines. Her mother, awaiting her own class in an hour, wears matching white cotton.

This is Jundokan South, a karate school run by Bruce McDavis on the South Hill, where entire families take karate. They work themselves into a breathless sweat, and go home, in this age of uncertainty and violence, their minds filled with a particularly reassuring set of values.

“Karate has a philosophy that appeals to both the parents and the kids,” says McDavis. “It’s one of discipline and respect and patience and self-esteem.”

Karate is an Asian martial art which teaches self-defense, but restricts students from making contact with their kicks and punches. It requires each student to concentrate, not on competition, but on their personal best.

“Karate spirit carries over,” says Robert Rowse, who takes karate in the adult class. His daughter Amanda works out in the children’s class. “It’s like a positive mental attitude.”

Jundokan South is one of nine karate centers which advertise classes for all ages in the Spokane yellow pages. Increasingly, women and children are learning this traditional male art.

Tonight, Kelly Boubel and Casey Jones practice their back roundhouse kicks over each other’s heads.

First Kelly crouches while Casey kicks. Then Casey crouches while Kelly kicks. They practice until both kids are dizzy. Kelly blows out a long breath and pushes a handful of red hair out of her eyes.

The kids all clap.

Karate takes people where they’re at and encourages them to get better. There’s to be no competition, no comparisons, no shrinking away.

When William Reynolds began karate at age 6, he was so hyperactive that he’d bounce with every punch.

McDavis took one look and realized this was a kid with so much energy that he had to bounce.

During William’s first few months, he held the class record for timeouts: for talking when he was supposed to be listening, for goofing off, for pretending he was a dog and barking at the other kids.

Today, he’s a serious eighth-grade brown belt with round wire-rimmed glasses and a focused determination. He helps train younger karate students.

“Now, seven years later, he’s the best teacher I have,” says McDavis.

“I always know I have something I’m good at,” says William, who earned a 4.0 grade-point average at Sacajawea Middle School last year. “I never feel I have to prove anything.”

The children’s class closes with kids shouting out the rules of the karate school, the heart of its philosophy:

Be humble and polite.

Train considering your physical strength.

Practice earnestly with creativity.

Be calm and swift.

Take care of your health.

Live a plain life.

Do not be too proud or modest.

Continue your training with patience.

Vicky Boubel ushers out her daughters during the break. The dojo, the building that houses the karate school, is located in McDavis’ back yard. McDavis allows the Boubel girls to stay in his house while their parents take the adult class. Tonight Vicky serves her daughters a quick snack and hurries back to the school.

Fourteen people stream into the adult class. Some of them have familiar faces. They are the parents of children from the earlier class.

Wearing white cotton uniforms called gis, they practice their blocks, kicks and punches.

The air in the room deepens with the smell of adult bodies and scented roll-ons.

Beads of perspiration pop up on a woman white belt’s forehead. Sweat runs in rivulets down a black belt’s face, dripping off his nose and splashing down into his white gi.

Karate is a fine cardiovascular workout and also provides muscular endurance, strength and flexibility, says McDavis, who has a master’s degree in physical education. He teaches 50 private students and 90 college students at Eastern Washington University and Gonzaga.

“It’s probably the best workout I’ve ever had,” says Vicky Boubel. She is also a runner.

At this point in the class, though, Vicky Boubel still looks cool. Shorter and lighter than most of the class, she practices her kicks with the same gaze of determination and respect her daughters wore earlier.

McDavis finds uncanny resemblances among family members. Aaron Dahmen combines quick movements and a solid power just like his dad’s. Robert and Amanda Rowse are similar strong fighters.

“You know the expression, ‘The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree,”’ says McDavis. “But why does William’s neko ashi dachi (a stance resembling a cat’s) look like his mom’s?”

The class pairs off. They practice grabbing an opponent, swinging him around on their hips and throwing him to the ground.

Small women eye the large men they’re supposed to throw. McDavis, whom they call “sensai,” meaning teacher, encourages them.

“Yes, sensai,” they shout in response to his commands.

Soon the chatter in the room is punctuated with the thud of bodies hitting the floor.

Near the end of class, Vicky Boubel participates in an exercise called shihon kumite. She stands in the center of a circle of four men - two black belts, a brown belt and a green. She turns and spars with each in succession. The last one she throws to the ground. Ka-flack. She leaps back, her fists clenched. She bows to the group.

Her husband, Tom Boubel, believes karate has increased his wife’s sense of power and self-confidence.

“I like the idea that the girls and Vicky won’t be paralyzed with the thought that they have no control over their life,” he says.

The class ends. The room feels like a sauna. Someone cracks open a window.

But the generations linger, kids and adults sharing a common language of Japanese phrases, fighting techniques and sore muscles.

“When the rest of the world is trying to tear you apart,” says Nancy Royce, William Reynolds’ mother, “that bond is there.”