Her father’s daughter

For more than a decade, Berris Sweeney left an indelible mark on hundreds of Wayne County families. Now, it’s Miyabi’s turn.

A little boy jerks his left arm skyward to protect his head from the swooping hand of his sensei, but he wasn’t quick enough. The pad on her right hand makes contact.

“Did I get you?” Miyabi Sweeney says, looking down.

The boy doesn’t immediately reply, so his sensei bends her neck so she can look him in the eye.

“Did I?” she asks. “Don’t lie.”

The boy lowers his head and starts walking toward the wall.

“That’s right. Give me some push-ups,” Miyabi says, before turning her attention to the next student in line.

“How many?” the boy asks.

“Until I tell you to stop,” she says.

In that moment, she hears her father’s voice in her head.

Be firm.

Having finished his push-ups, the boy is back in line. And when his turn comes, he’s ready.

Miyabi throws another headshot, but is met, this time, with a clean block.

“Perfect,” the sensei says, smiling. “Great job.”

Again, her father is seemingly beside her.

Celebrate their success.

Miyabi is familiar with both of the feelings her young student likely experienced Friday night inside Exclusively You, the local gym where she runs a pop-up dojo once a week.

The 21-year-old has been on the receiving end of a sensei’s tough love for as long as she can remember.

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A little girl begins her training. She is only 5, but from kickboxing to martial arts, her father, Berris, makes it a point to expose his daughter to his passion — disciplines that saw him travel the world, win international championships and, ultimately, mentor title winners.

“He would sit down with me one-on-one to work with me,” Miyabi says. “He took the time to teach me every little thing.”

She would grow into one of his prize students, but, because she was his daughter, her achievements were often less celebrated than others.

In fact, while her classmates were testing for their black belts, Miyabi was forced to watch — unsure of when her time would come.

“I was really upset. Back then, I didn’t understand it,” she said. “Everybody knew that even though he was my dad, he didn’t go the easiest on me. He was actually the toughest on me.”

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A 17-year-old struggles to make it through her black belt test. It is grueling. She is, at once, both physically and mentally exhausted.

But she counts the experience among her most coveted memories.

It isn’t because of the belt she would ultimately claim. It’s because of the man who pushed her to succeed from just off the mat.

“I was in my black belt grading and I was dying. (My dad) wasn’t the one actually testing me. It was Shihan (Freddy) Lopez,” Miyabi says. “I heard him on the sideline.”

You got this, Miyabi. You go, Miyabi.

A tear falls from her eye.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That meant a lot. It still means a lot.”

It meant a lot because after all she endured, it was her father who tied her black belt around her waist.

“Once I got it, it made everything mean so much more. He made everything hard, which I know now was tough love,” Miyabi says. “He did it for the best. I wouldn’t have wanted him to just hand me a black belt. I know I earned it.”

And that memory means even more now that he’s gone.

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After running a successful dojo in Goldsboro for more than a decade — and grooming state, regional, and national champions — Berris moved his family to California to start anew.

“He cried,” Miyabi says, recalling the day in July 2015 when, after the NKF National Karate Championships in Florida, he said goodbye to members of Team Sweeney before they returned to North Carolina without their sensei. “The dojo was our family.”

He wasn’t the only one who saw it that way.

His students likened him to a second father. Their parents were grateful that such a steady role model was present in the lives of their children. And seemingly everyone in Wayne County knew Berris — or knew someone who was touched by his passion for the boys and girls who walked into his dojo.

“Even when I was little, I noticed that he had a lot of friends. He was really popular. He’s won world championships and international tournaments. He was good at everything. He knew everybody,” Miyabi says. “He was so selfless — so quick to help somebody, to lend somebody a hand. I think everybody in the community knew him — somehow, some way.”

So when they learned in the fall of 2017 that Berris was preparing for the battle of his life — Stage 4 adrenal cancer — they rallied to his corner.

A GoFundMe page raised nearly $7,000. Well-wishes came from as far as London, Jamaica, and Japan.

The outpouring of love gave strength to Miyabi and her family. But they still found the news hard to accept.

“I didn’t think it was real. I knew something was off when they went to the hospital, but when I found out, I didn’t really believe it. I was in denial for a long time,” Miyabi says. “We were trying natural medicine. We went through chemo. Everything.”

And they moved back to Wayne County to be closer to the people they had come to love.

“Everybody was supporting him and he was doing everything he could,” Miyabi says. “In my head, I did think that he would get over it.”

He didn’t.

But even when the end seemed inevitable and he was moved into Willow Creek nursing home, he showed his daughter what true strength really is.

He might have been bedridden, but he was still a sensei. So he tried to demonstrate kata, a martial arts floor exercise, even though he could barely stand.

“To lift up his spirits, in the small room he had, I would try to do a kata to keep him motivated. And he would be like, ‘Now let me get up and do a kata.’ Obviously, he couldn’t,” Miyabi says as more tears fall. “But I thought it was just amazing that he still had the motivation to try to get up. He was such a strong man.”

As strong as he was loved.

Berris died December 4.

“It broke me,” Miyabi says. “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after that.”

She had no way of knowing that hundreds would travel from across the world to wrap their arms around her — and to pay their respects to a man they said touched more lives in his 57 years than most do in a lifetime.

And when he was finally laid to rest January 5, dozens stood along the outskirts of the Haskins Funeral Home chapel to say goodbye because there were not enough seats to hold them.

“I think seeing how many people were at the funeral just goes to show how many people he touched,” Miyabi says. “He was just a really special man. I miss him so much.”

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Miyabi tightens the tattered black belt her father first tied around her waist and congratulates her students on another successful class.

“Line up,” she says. “High-fives.”

It was a tradition inside her father’s dojo: the sensei extending his hand further and further into the air — urging his students to jump higher than they thought they were capable of.

Now it’s Miyabi’s turn.

The truth is, much of what she does inside the dojo is familiar to those with memories of her father. The name and symbol on the back of her gi are the same.

“Just as he would like it,” Miyabi says. “As he would want it.”

The sensei is both loving and demanding. One parent said she has Berris’ patience — his grace.

It’s no wonder. He is, after all, beside her with every kick, punch and block.

“At times, when I’m getting on the kids — being a little strict on them and telling them to do a drill — I feel him. I say, ‘Oh, I sounded just like him,’” Miyabi says. “That’s who I strive to be. That’s one person I always looked up to. But I have a long way before I can start teaching like him. I still have a lot to learn.”