Hello, fellow Steemians. I want to introduce you to someone very dear to me. Meet Sifu David Wong:
Sifu Wong teaches wing chun and tai chi at the Oakdale Wing Chun Club in Oakdale, Minnesota. Here’s a picture of the class from 2011. I believe I was the photographer, though if so, I used someone else’s camera:
(Yep, that’s right: Sifu Wong teaches in his driveway, his garage, and his basement.)
I’m sorry to report, however, that Sifu Wong has fallen quite ill. Out of respect for his family, I opt not to disclose his condition, but I will say that it’s sudden and serious enough that I left work to visit him in the hospital as soon as I heard about it.
After eight years of training under his careful instruction, it’s hard to see that a man I once considered invincible lying in a hospital bed.
Sifu Wong isn’t just a martial artist of stunning ability, nor only a teacher of rare talent, but someone I think of as a second father. I suppose it’s common in martial-arts schools to “venerate the senpai,” but nonetheless, I estimate Sifu’s wisdom and advice in the highest ranks. But that doesn’t just proceed from his obvious authority in class: indeed, Sifu Wong’s personal history earns him just as much regard.
Born sixty-seven years ago, Sifu David Wong—or, Wong Sum Pui—grew up in Guangdong, China, during the early years of the People’s Republic of China. (I believe that he was born in Foshan, but I haven’t confirmed this in far too long.) He crossed the border into Hong Kong with his little brother in 1963, and found his benefactors among a pair of academics from Minnesota, who adopted his little brother and he into their home.
I remember one of Sifu Wong’s stories about these benefactors: spending their first night in their benefactors’ Hong Kong residence, the young brothers encountered a test of character when the benefactors left some cash sitting on the table. The brothers passed the test, and on the strength of this good character, Sifu Wong says, he found himself living in America. Since then, he has lived (and practiced martial arts) not just in Minnesota, but in New York and Biloxi, Mississippi. Among other places, I’m sure, though I must admit I can’t call myself his most knowledgeable biographer, and most likely knew more about him that’s now lost to my memory.
I’d like to say I’m handling the news of his illness with as much grace as he has. Even in a hospital bed, with family and students surrounding him, Sifu Wong displayed a serenity I can’t match even in my day-to-day life.
“If it happens, it happens,” he said. “I’m not going to cry about it.”
Regrettably, I haven’t seen as much of Sifu Wong in the past few years. I trained twice a week with him until four years ago, when I started a degree program and had to direct my attention elsewhere. I still trained in earnest during the summers and between semesters, and started a new regimen upon my graduation last winter. Still, circumstance stole my focus once more, and I put my martial-arts studies on hold at the beginning of June.
So, I can’t say I’ve done as much with his training as I might have liked. I worry, at times, about having wasted the gift of his instruction—truly, it’s a rare occasion to meet a teacher with the same insights—but Sifu Wong doesn’t give me any harder of a time than to joke, “I tried calling the CIA, and even they couldn’t get a hold of you!”
Anyway, I’m writing this just to put the world on notice. As Sifu Wong himself has said in the face of tragedy, “Life is very uncertain,” and so I can’t imagine much more we can do than to hope for the best while preparing ourselves for the worst. (Cover all the bases, that way.)
In this case, however, I imagine something for which the entire world must prepare itself. In my view, Sifu Wong isn’t just a wonderful person, but indeed, a living treasure of the human heritage. Those familiar with Chinese martial arts may be aware that the multitude of traditional styles from across the country have faced the Communist Party’s impulse toward modernization and standardization, resulting in the homogenized style of wushu that the Chinese State Commission for Physical Culture and Sports has produced. Sifu Wong, on the other hand, teaches the traditional wing chun from the lineage of Yuen Kay Shan--a Guangdong predecessor of the better-known Hong Kong style of Ip Man--as well as Yang-style tai chi, in both the empty-handed and sword forms. Of course, no one can say if or when these traditions might go extinct, an incredible wealth of knowledge now stands at risk of passing out of this world.
While Sifu Wong has never put much stock in lineages, and prefers to emphasize what an individual can do with what they’ve learned, I think it’s only the least I can do: offering what little I can about his background and experience. That way, at least some testimony to his incredible abilities and indomitable spirit might go on the record of this blockchain. Given the stakes—the irrevocable loss of a piece of the human heritage—I suppose it’s the least I can do. Because, no matter how much I might have missed over the years, I’m proud that I can say to myself, “I learned kung fu the Wong way.”