Over a year ago, I wrote the post
"Should They Have Been Allowed to Quit?". This post received many comments and even prompted responses on others blogs. When I look at my site statistics, I am always surprised by the number of people searching for "quitting karate".
Last week, an anonymous commenter shared his story about karate and quitting. I want to share his response.
My Dad.
Once when I was a struggling Brown Belt, my dad came into my room and told me to get my uniform on, it was time to go to class. "I don't want to go anymore dad," I said.
"Ok," he replied, "Put your uniform on it's time to go to class."
"Dad, you didn't hear me, I said I don't want to go anymore," I answered.
"I heard you," he said with a smile, "put on your uniform, it's time to go.
He made me go. For at least a month, I begged, cried, pleaded, acted up and did everything I could to not go. After that month I realized that this was important enough to him, that I didn't have a choice. It's like eating my veggies, going to school, going to bed on time, doing my chores, taking my epilepsy medicine. Did I mention I was born with epilepsy?
I didn't know it, but the doctors had told my parents I probably wouldn't live past 30, either the seizures would kill me, or the medicine would destroy my kidneys.
Through my training I learned breath control and deep meditation. Through meditation, I learned to control my seizures. I am 46 years old, have two kids, 9 and 10, a wonderful wife and a career running my own school.
Through meditation I learned to control my seizures, I've not had a seizure or medicine treating them in over 20 years. I still feel my epilepsy, it's there, tingling on my right side, but I control it.
In that one moment, when my dad said, "Put on your uniform, it's time to go," he saved my life and insured the birth of his grandkids.
Think carefully about your decision to allow your kids to choose a destiny you have the wisdom to see, but they do not.
Everyday I see my father's wisdom, more and more.
Also, this is a good example of the butterfly effect.
Anonymous, thank you for sharing your story.