The Book of Five Rings

Not Yet

You want to whistle.
You push the air out — pfff.
No sound. Just air.
You can’t whistle yet.

Not yet.
Try again.

You try in the morning. Pfff.
You try at lunch. Pfff.
You try in the bath. Pfff.
A tiny squeak! Almost!

Not yet.
Try again.

Your mouth is learning.
Each try, it learns a little.
You can’t feel it learning.
But it is.

Then one day —
you push the air out —
and a whistle comes out!
A real one!

You didn’t get lucky.
You didn’t get a magic power.
You tried, and tried, and your mouth learned.

It works for hard things.
Tying your shoes. Riding a bike. Catching a ball.
You can’t, and you can’t, and you can’t —
and then you can.

You won’t be the best in the world.
That’s okay.
You just have to be better than yesterday.

So when something is too hard,
when you want to stop —
take a breath.
And try one more time.

Say it with me:
Not yet. Try again.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: This is the steadiest idea in Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings, a nearly 400-year-old book by a swordsman who said he was never beaten: skill is built by doing the thing over and over until the body knows it, and the fair measure is your own past self. The book is also famous for bigger claims (that mastering one thing teaches you everything, and a much-quoted line about facing death) that are far more contested; this primer keeps to the part that simply holds. One thing to keep honest with your child: practice makes us better, not guaranteed winners. The “better than yesterday” line is doing real work here, so try not to let it slide into a promise that trying hard makes you the best.

Big Eyes

You are playing tag.
Your friend is It.
Here she comes!
Your tummy jumps. That’s okay.

Do you stare at her hand?
Just her hand?
Then you miss her feet.

Big eyes.
See it all.

Look at all of her.
Her feet. Her face. Which way she leans.
She leans left.
Her feet turn left.
Now you know where she’s going!

Big eyes.
See it all.

Look around you, too.
The slide is over there.
The big tree is over here.
The grass is wide open.
Now you know where you can run.

Sometimes you still get tagged.
That’s okay.
Then you are It!
Now your big eyes look for a runner.

Big eyes.
See it all.

So next time someone runs at you,
take a breath.
Make your eyes big.
Look at the whole friend,
and the whole place.

Say it with me:
Big eyes. See it all.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: Musashi taught swordsmen not to fix their eyes on the opponent’s sword, hands or feet, but to take in the whole person and the whole field, so they could read what the other person meant to do. He put it as “Perception is strong and sight weak.” Tag swaps his duel for a game your child already plays; the mechanism is the same. It helps your child see more, and it doesn’t promise they’ll never get caught.

If I Were You

You are the seeker.
You count to ten.
Ready or not, here I come!

Where is your brother?
You look under the bed.
Not there.
You look behind the door.
Not there.

Stop.
Think.
If I were him,
where would I hide?

He is small.
He likes the dark.
He loves the big coat closet.
It smells like rain boots.

If I were him,
I would hide in there.

You tiptoe to the closet.
You open the door.
Two feet. Under the coats.
Found you!

You didn’t look everywhere.
You thought like him.

Sometimes you guess wrong.
That’s okay.
Think again.
If I were him…
maybe the laundry basket?

Now you hide.
Your brother is the seeker.
What will he think?
Will he think like you?

Say it with me:
If I were you,
where would I be?

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: Musashi called this “becoming the enemy”: put yourself in the other person’s position, feel what they feel, and you can tell what they will do next. He meant it for duels and battles; hide-and-seek keeps the same move in a game. It is a guess, not mind-reading, which is why the primer lets your child guess wrong and try again.