In Director Martin Brest’s Meet Joe Black (1998), Marcia Gay Harden played Allison Parrish, who orchestrates the 65th Birthday celebration for her Dad Bill, played by Anthony Hopkins. Bill says, “You really are amazing. But why, oh why Allision, are you doing this?”
Allison stops arranging her flowers, “Because I love you. After all, you’ve been a wonderful father…” Bill replies, “Well, I haven’t been a wonderful father…” She interrupts, “Like you’ve been to Susan (played by Claire Forlani).” He explains, “No, I wasn’t going to say that.” She says, “But that’s what you’re thinking. But that’s okay. Cause I know that you love me…”
Allison’s younger sister Susan is the bright light in Bill’s eyes. His favorite daughter. Allison suffered in that distinction over the years.
Allison says, “… But you’ve never let us want for anything. But God, more than that, I felt loved. So never mind favorites. You’re allowed to have yours. The point is, you’ve been mine.”
Watching Meet Joe Black in the dark movie theater, I cried out loud in my seat. Yet, I was drowned out by a woman crying, sitting a couple of aisles up front. She too was Allison. Maybe she felt loved as well.
Later that year, at a bike rental shop in Venice Beach, CA, I met Marcia Gay Harden. I confessed that Meet Joe Black was my favorite movie in 1998. It’s one of my Favorite of All-Time (FOAT) movies. In describing her signature scene with Anthony Hopkins, I said, “I cried.” Immediately, I thought, “WTF did I just say?” Marcia graciously said, “Thank you.” I felt loved. She felt loved, too. Of working with Anthony Hopkins, Marcia said, “He always gets it on the first take.” We had the most amazing conversation about movies, both our great love.
After Thursday night Aikido practice before the Christmas Holidays, Ishibashi Sensei and I sat together and talked. Sensei asked about my Christmas plans. I said, “Not much.” Although the Dojo was closed for Christmas, I guessed that Sensei was training. Yeah, I was right.
Ishibashi Sensei said that he wants to train while he still could so that he can pass on everything the late Mizukami Sensei gave him. I got it. I’m 59 years old. Sensei is a couple of years older than me. He’s in amazing physical condition. Sensei trains harder than anyone I know on Planet Earth, inventing his greater-than version. He inspires me to do the same.
The late Mizukami Sensei taught us Aikido, was meaningful to us. He was a Father to us. Mizukami Sensei said, “Just train.” We perpetuate Sensei’s legacy: Take a glancing blow if you have to. You’re not going to get away scot-free. It’s one time.
We both felt Sensei’s love. We honor his enduring legacy. In the bigger picture, Sensei wanted to make the world a better place through Aikido. He made the world a better place for Ishibashi Sensei and me. We give away all that Sensei bestowed to fulfill his purpose. It’s about love. Love comes in various shapes and sizes. Still, it’s love. Just saying.
About 30 years ago, I participated in transformational training with the late Jerome Downes, a great Sensei, a great Man. I had it that Dad didn’t love me. I distinguished with Jerome that I wanted and expected love to look, be expressed in a certain way. My way. I wasn’t open to the possibility of love. I had to get over myself, that the world was all about me. I looked within me, instead of looking for someone to blame.
When I was a little boy, Dad scared me to my soul. I never knew what I did or didn’t do that made him so angry with me. I would never be good enough for Dad. I would never be good enough. Period. That sourced my transformational training. Although, I didn’t know that at the time. That’s just life.
Years later, I worked with my therapist Lance. I got that Dad suffered far worse with his Dad. I evolved compassion for Dad. In healing my childhood trauma and depression, I started to love myself for who I am and forgive myself for who I’m not.
When I first moved up to Los Angeles for work from Hawaii, Dad sent me large manila envelopes with cutout articles from Popular Mechanics, Field and Stream, and various other magazines. Honestly, those articles bored me to death.
In the transformational training session with Jerome, I got it. I went home that night and called up Dad on the phone, my landline. In the dark ages, we didn’t all have mobile phones. I asked, “You know those articles you sent, was that your way of saying that you love me?” Dad said, “Yeah.” Dad was a man of few words, to say the least.
For the first time in 31 years, I said, “I love you.” Our relationship transformed. That summer commenced our annual fishing trips to Kenai, Alaska for the next 17 years. Dad passed away a few years after that.
On one fishing trip, Dad taught me to fish for sockeye salmon on the banks of the Kenai River. He was the revered Sockeye Fishing Sensei. People from around the country would literally book their fishing trips at the Lodge so that they could fish with him. Fishing for sockeye was Dad’s great love on Planet Earth.
As Dad told me to hold my fishing pole tip down in the water, before I could set the hook to catch the salmon, I felt loved. I believe he felt loved, too.
Dan Mizukami Sensei passed away several years ago. His wife Alyce, who was like my Mom in Los Angeles, called me up about Sensei’s funeral services. She said that the services were for family only. I got it. I told Alyce, “I loved Dan.” She said, “He loved you, too.” I cried.
In our 25-year Aikido journey together, we never said, “I love you.” Sensei was the most important Man to me on Planet Earth. He called me out for not following the navigation system instructions in my car to get on the 101 Freeway. I watched Super Bowls and ate pizza at his home. Sensei said, “You’re a better teacher than me.”
No, Sensei never said, “I love you.” Neither did I. Still, I always felt loved. I believe he felt my love, too. Rest in Peace, Sensei. I’m the greater man because you were here on Planet Earth. Nothing but mad love and respect.
In the bigger picture, whether we say “I love you” or not, show the love. The late Fred Rogers of Mister Rogers Neighborhood said, “You don’t have to do anything sensational to be loved.” Show your love to others. Let them feel loved. Just saying.
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