Growing Up Fighting

The air was thick and wet in the tiny garage that served as a makeshift dojo for a committed group of young men.  Like so many other summer days, this one was particularly brutal, mainly because we were nearing the end of a belt test for two boys.  One was attempting to achieve black belt, the other, brown (one grade below).  What these two did not know at the start of the test was that I had garnered the help and support of a couple of other seasoned martial artists; two strong men who outweighed these kids by 30 pounds or more.  As I had requested, they pulled no punches nor would they allow themselves to be thrown, pinned or choked unless the technique was accurate.  I pushed the two boys to the very limits of their physical, mental and albeit, spiritual limits.  It was the culmination of decades spent teaching my sons how to fight and it was one of the most loving things I could do.

Both of my sons made black belt that day, in part due to the recommendations of my two friends who helped me beat the crap out them, but mostly due to their incredible grit.  The determination not to quit, not to give in to pain and fear.  By the end, one was breathing so heavily that he was wheezing; the other collapsed in his brother’s arms.  Both cried…hell, everybody cried.  Except for their grandmother, who looked disapprovingly at me the whole time. Their mom, however, understood.  She’d seen us rough house, play fight and act like animals running around the house with water balloons or forcing everybody out of the neighbor’s pool because we may have gotten carried away with “king of the raft.”  I didn’t live that one down for a while.

At this point, some may be reading this and ask what kind of a father I was to these two young men.  The answer is simple:  the only one I knew how to be.  I purposely pitted them against each other throughout their young lives.  Pillow fights, mud ball fights…martial arts.  You can do that with brothers who are two years apart.  And did they always get along?  100% no.  Like most brothers, there were plenty of times when they despised each other.  So I did what any military dad would do and made them bunk together and be accountable for one another.  Their relationship was one of full of arguments, stealing toys, pranks, telling on each other, etc.  But it all came to a head on the day of their test.  Because on that day, perhaps more than any other, there was no rivalry, no age gap.  I put them through hell together and together they got through it.   And they have been the best of friends ever since.

Most people in today’s climate would be adamantly opposed to the way I raised my boys.  Some would say it verged or even crossed the line of abuse.  Yeah, well, I say if you raise young men, you must in some way prepare them for war.  Young men need a warrior outlet that allows them to stoke the fire that’s in their DNA.  The need to hunt, protect, fight, overcome, and dominate.  AI cannot provide that.  Computer games and books may give a visual, but young men need to get hit, thrown, bruised and bloodied.  They need to be challenged and they need to lose...often; if you never lose, you never learn how to win.  If you are not forced to face up to fear, embarrassment or failure, you cannot hope to become a mature man.  It’s because so many young men have been kept from everything I’m describing that we have a culture full of confused males who wouldn’t know the first thing about defending themselves or their families. More importantly, they have no clue how to treat women, how to be accessible husbands and fathers, how to present themselves to other men and the world.  How to lead and be led.  How to deal with loss and tough times that require grit and determination found in a dojo, on a wrestling mat, on football field or on a basket ball court.  Choose your sport or activity…young boys must be pushed to become men.  They cannot and will not do it on their own.  Toxic masculinity is nothing than an under developed man who was never taught humility.

Since their crucible that day, my sons have had struggles in school, with jobs and relationships.  They lost mom to cancer.  They’ve made their share of poor decisions that prompted a verbal kick in the butt at times and I know like all of us, they have some regrets.  But they’ve had each other to lean on and yes, they still train and fight…together.  I can think of no other time in my 60 years on the planet that we need to return to this mentality more, that boys must in some way be prepared to fight.  That takes a strong father or at least a strong male figure who, rather than shield them from violence and pain, teaches them how to deal with those things.  Young men need to be taught that the world owes them nothing…especially respect.  Respect is something earned through consistent action and the willingness to keep fighting.  Even when there seems to be no hope or no rest.  All of us face this in some way eventually.  As for me, I don’t look inward, but upward…

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”  2 Timothy 4:7

Dave Magliano

Tatsu Dojo

Jissenkan Budo

Dojo Cho