Chapter 5: The Trick Is You

Chapter 5: The Trick Is You

Grip and Flow – A Kendama Memoir

Some kids think the trick is the spike.

Some think it’s the whirlwind.

Some think it’s juggling, flipping, stacking, or string control.

But the real trick?

The one no one sees?

It’s you.

I saw it in Reece—

the way he lit up when he finally believed he belonged.

Not because he landed the trick,

but because he remembered who he was holding it.

I saw it in Evelyn—

the way her confidence caught fire not from applause,

but from one quiet personal moment of breakthrough.

Eyes wide. Smile rising.

Like she’d just unlocked a door inside herself.

The trick is not the catch.

It’s the courage to keep holding the Ken when you want to quit.

It’s the breath when everyone else is watching.

It’s the choice to be grounded, even when the world is not.

The trick is showing up again.

And again.

And again.

The trick is forgiving yourself when the miss gets in your head.

The trick is not performing—

it’s becoming.

We teach them the cups.

We show them the spike.

We walk them through the lighthouse, the airplane, the juggle.

But what we’re really teaching

is how to face themselves.

Nick knew this.

He didn’t need to say much.

He just showed up every day

and gave the kids the space to find their own rhythm.

Zach lived it.

He didn’t coach with words—he coached with presence.

His trick was humility.

His trick was never needing to be seen.

And Hachime—

his trick was always the long game.

Not the trick of the day,

but the one who stays when the day is hard.

Now Kaijo is starting to understand.

He trains not just to land the trick—

but to sharpen the person landing it.

He’s beginning to realize:

The Ken is just a mirror.

The string is just a path.

And the flow?

It starts inside.

You can’t teach the trick

until the player knows they are the trick.

So when I hand them the Kendama,

I’m not really giving them a toy.

I’m giving them a chance to remember:

You are the trick.

You are the practice.

You are the one becoming.

Chapter 6: String Theory

Grip and Flow – A Kendama Memoir

They think it’s about the ball.

Or the spike.

Or the trick.

But the string is what holds it all together.

The part no one talks about.

The part most kids ignore until it tangles.

But without it—there’s no connection.

No play.

No return.

That string?

That’s your mindset.

That’s your values.

That’s the invisible thing that holds every move together.

I was teaching a group one morning—Reece, Bella, and Charlie all lined up.

Reece was focused. Bella was flowing.

Charlie, though—he kept swinging too hard,

tugging the string like it owed him something.

“Slow down,” I told him. “Feel the string.”

He looked at me confused. “Feel it?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Not just the ball. The connection.”

He tried again—still rough.

The ball snapped back too fast, hit his finger, and he winced.

Then I sat beside him and said,

“The trick won’t land until the tension’s right.

Too loose, and it drifts.

Too tight, and it fights you.

But just enough tension—

and the whole thing dances.”

That’s when he got it.

He stopped swinging.

Started breathing.

Let the string do its work.

And boom—cup. Spike. Landed.

The gym got quiet for a second.

He smiled. Not loud.

Just that soft, centered smile that says, I understand something now.

String theory.

Invisible truths.

The things holding us together,

even when we don’t know it.

Hachime used to say:

“The string remembers what the hands forget.”

Meaning—when your training is right,

when your habits are aligned,

you’ll return to center even after chaos.

Nick talked about this too.

He once said,

“What connects me to the trick is what keeps me from forcing it.”

And Zach?

He just held the Kendama like it was part of him.

No separation.

No overthinking.

Just connection.

Kaijo struggled with this at first.

He wanted control.

Wanted the trick on his terms.

But the string doesn’t work like that.

It’s relationship—not dominance.

It responds best to trust.

Like life.

Like people.

Like faith.

You don’t always see what’s holding things together.

But you feel it when it’s missing.

And you thrive when it’s right.

So I teach them now—

Feel the string.

Honor the connection.

Respect the tension.

Let the invisible things teach you what the visible ones can’t.

Because sometimes the strongest part of the trick

is the one no one sees.