Bowing to Shomen
Kelsey Weymouth-Little (Ward Melville High School)
As I enter the dojo, the door shuts behind me, and I run to sit in line with everyone else. We close our
eyes, cup our hands against our belts, and breathe. The purple and brown belt students to my right are my
senpais, my seniors. They are closest to shomen, the wall of the dojo to which all Karate students are
required to pay respect. When we bow to shomen, when we even glance at it, we are reminded of who we
are, where we are, the tradition we are carrying on. Shomen keeps us from forgetting ourselves.

“No,” Sensei says, opening his eyes while we breathe. “Don’t sit like that. Don’t slump your
shoulders, don’t arch your back, don’t bend your neck. The slightest mistake ruins everything.”
I remember reading the New York Times article about the Japanese workers at the Fukushima Daiichi
nuclear plant, struggling to prevent a meltdown, 3 and I know Sensei is right. If those workers had made
even the smallest mistake, millions of people might have died.

Sensei claps, and we all place our palms on our thighs. We turn slightly to our right and bow to
shomen, then to Sensei, then to each other. Then we stand, and Sensei begins assigning people to lead the
warm ups.

“Now who can lead jumps? Who touches their toes every time? Alright,” he says to Susan, “you can
do it. You’re the only one who does it right.”
“Teach these people how to do Karate,” he tells Senpai David. “They don’t know.”
What don’t we know? We definitely don’t know proper technique. I make mistakes every day; so does
everyone else. But then I think of the New York Times again, of the reports on conditions in Japan after the
earthquake. When the Japanese waited to get into the few open stores, nobody pushed. 1 When the Japanese
passed by the abandoned stores, nobody stole. And even before the earthquake, one op-ed writer recalled,
when the Japanese children played musical chairs, when they were told to shove each other aside to claim a
seat for themselves, nobody knew what to do. 2 My life has been spent jostling for the best spot on the lunch
line, illegally downloading music when I can get away with it, and playing a lot of musical chairs. Behind
every punch and kick, there’s an entire culture that I have yet to understand.

Sensei steps out of the dojo, leaving Senpai Ryan in charge. The flow of the class continues the same
as it had when Sensei was in the room, yet everything is different. The dojo is not just a place and, when
Sensei, the crux of the entire structure, steps out, the dojo itself changes. Now its walls are less rigid, its
structure less ordered; everyone still practices but a murmur of conversation undercuts the exhales and
strikes. I know that, when Sensei returns, the conversation will cease and the walls will become as sturdy as
they were before, but how did they start? Are they made of water that, a long time ago, was frozen all at
once? Are they made of bricks that were laboriously laid on top of each other, one by one? Or have the
walls been here for so long that nobody can even remember how they were first formed? If these walls
were in Japan, I imagine that they would keep standing no matter who walked in or out, because they
would have an entire culture to lean on. But here, Sensei spends a lot of time holding them up with both
hands. Crash! The screen covering the back door collapses, hitting the wall on its way down. Senpai David,
standing next to it, grabs it before it strikes the ground. At that moment, Sensei walks in. “I could see that
was going to happen from outside,” he says. “You guys are slow.”
We all return to our practice, working as hard as we can, not even contemplating getting distracted.

Sensei corrects our mistakes, and even smiles when watching some of the younger students practice. He no
longer seems as burdened by the weight of the walls.

Class is almost over. We run to sit and bow, first to each other, then to Sensei, and then to shomen.

Then we stand and line up to bow to Sensei and shake his hand before we leave.

As I depart, I feel guilty for bowing out of the Japanese way of life after just an hour.

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