Kung Fu is about dedication. It takes years to master any craft, and Kung Fu demands no less. That’s why it’s important to find a teacher you trust, and that in itself can take doing. Once you find the right instructor, you’ll form a bond that could last years. This relationship is beautiful but there’s a hard fact you may come across, especially if your Sifu is older than you are.

At some point, you may lose your teacher. After all, even great masters don’t live forever. This is what happened at my school, and the way we dealt with it wasn’t what I would have expected.

A Twisting Path

My martial arts path hasn’t been straight. At five years old I started a journey beginning with Taekwondo, winding through various absences, teachers, towns and styles. I trained with Tai Chi, Bagua, Wushu, Qigong and more. Along the way I met a group of people who trained at a Shaolin style school. It took seven years of knowing them to finally join them, and even then, my path was scattered. I’ve travelled, moved away, almost died, come back, left again, and through all that the Chinese Culture Center became my home. Even when I’m not there, my martial arts training centers around what we learn there.

So, it was disconcerting to say the least when our teacher, Sifu Charles Chang-Wei Lin, had to have brain surgery and couldn’t be there with us for many weeks. It was even harder when he came back and wasn’t the same. The surgery saved his life, but it took his ability to move. For a year or so he taught anyway, showing us what grit meant. Finally, it was too much and we faced his imminent retirement.

We didn’t think he would ever retire. He loved to talk about longevity, he was a shining example of what training can do in that regard, and he was clear that he intended to teach until he dropped, hopefully at well over 100. We accepted his decision to retire, but something else came up quickly. The school was a business, run by Sifu Lin and his wife Synthia. If he retired, our community would dissolve. Even worse, for many students that would mean the end of training.

A Dilemma Which Must Be Prepared For

Many students train to please their teacher. Without class, their practice falls off. This is painfully obvious after a vacation or when students move away and come back. A beginner can’t be faulted for this. Until a student learns what to practice, how can they practice on their own? Eventually, though, the best students practice outside school more than inside. Class becomes a place to get guidance, learn, form bonds with fellow students, and practice more.

I had a unique perspective on this. Because I travelled so much, I would never have progressed without owning my own practice. I had to prove my dedication by improving when I was gone, so my teacher would see that I deserved to learn the next move. For me, this was the key to keeping my training up in his retirement.

For our school as a whole, it wasn’t that simple. Yes, we could practice on our own, but how would we learn new material? How would we get corrections? Most of all, would we lose this tight-knit community, built over a 40-year span? I myself was at a loss. I would never lose Kung Fu, but this community had become my world. I even met my girlfriend of 11 years there.

A Solution and A Struggle

What we came up with was a mix of boldly unconventional and old school. From a purely Kung Fu perspective, things couldn’t have been more traditional. During our annual Lunar New Year public demonstration, our teacher officially passed the torch to his top student, Ray, who had trained with him since the beginning – over 40 years. The mallet was handed over, and the massive gong was struck by the new head of the school. Other advanced students took over other aspects. Tai Chi was taken over by Steve, a veteran of nearly 30 years. Keith took Chin-Na, and Marcy handled Qigong.  Occasionally Sifu Lin, now grand master, would consult or help lead a special class.

But the business wasn’t handed to Ray or the others. Instead, over a long period of time, some students pooled money, created a business plan and operating agreement, and bought the school. This included leasing the building the school resides in, which is an amazing concrete pagoda built mostly by students over 25 years earlier.

This was a hard process. We struggled with the transition emotionally and logistically. What was once a well-established business run by a single-minded power couple was now a collective, subject to the inevitable conflict, problems and opportunities that come with democracy. This was new territory and admittedly totally unconventional. It made sense, though. Our school had always been a curious amalgam of cult-of-personality and egalitarian cooperative. Students volunteered for demonstrations, built the school, taught each other (with Sifu’s direction), and helped when someone was in need.

As we struggled with costs, dwindling enrollment and the hefty question of who we would become in the community, we were hit with devastating news. Our beloved grand master had passed away on a Sunday in December.

Strangely Renewed Vigor

At the funeral five days later, masses of people spoke, all with some story of how Sifu, the school, and the training and values of Kung Fu had saved them in some way.

We were scheduled to have a “team practice” the next day after the service. These are special school-wide practices where our demonstration team (open to all students) prepares for an upcoming show – in this case Chinese New Year. We didn’t cancel. Instead we tried to honor our Sifu by carrying on, and a strange thing happened. We seemed to have renewed energy and passion. The room was vibrant and though we were distraught, we were also inspired. It was time for us to fly, honor our teacher’s memory, and really see if we could carry on the values he’d taught. Maybe we were even a little glad for him not suffering anymore. Maybe his chi was permeating the room. Whatever it was, we knew we could carry on.

What Now?

The loss of our teacher wasn’t just the loss of a dear friend. It has also left each of us as martial artists with a question of how to proceed. We’d kept the school alive, so we could train, and Sifu Ray can teach a lot of what Sifu Lin taught. But what about the knowledge he took with him? And where would our advanced students (and Ray) learn new material?

What I’ve come to realize is that for Ray and the other highly advanced students, the question is the same as it was for our late master. It’s now their job to own their practice, lead, and to seek new knowledge. As a school, it’s our job to create a new legacy, interact with the greater community, and forge our own unique identity and reputation.

We really haven’t lost the training. In truth, it’s just begun.