In Director Travis Knight’s Masters of the Universe (2026), young Prince Adam, played Artie Wilkinson-Hunt, embarrassed his father King Randor, played by James Purefoy, watching his warrior training. The angry King challenged his son raising his sword. He mercilessly attacked Adam until he surrendered on the ground. The grown man beat down the little boy to make an example of him. Terrified Adam looked up at his Father in tears.
The King said, “The world is no place for the weak!”
When I was about 7 years old, Dad yelled, “You’re just like her!” That I was like my Mom, not in a good way. Dad meant I was weak. My parents didn’t have a good relationship. They survived in their abusive marriage.
Like little Adam in the movie, I was scared to my soul. I got I was weak. I was not good enough. Not good enough for Dad. Never would be. I wasn’t the son, he wanted. I embarrassed him. As frightened as I was, I was sadder inside. I cried. I would never be good enough for anyone else, especially me.
Dad spoke truth. He was bigger and stronger than me. Yes, I was weak.
Mom knew Dad scared the hell out me. When I feared to my soul, she said, “Jonny, slow down.” She reminded me to take a breath, calm my soul. Things had a way of working out. Older and perhaps wiser, I’m proud that I’m like Mom. I try to embody and share Mom’s wisdom and heart with others. Ironically, Dad said truth.
I spent much of my adult life, proving that I was good enough for Dad, for others, and really for myself. In the First Noble Truth of Buddhism, there will always be suffering in life. The Fourth Noble Truth of Buddhism is the path to end suffering. On the path, I train in Aikido with Mizukami Sensei and Ishibashi Sensei, participate in therapy with Lance Miller, and write for the Good Men Project with my Editor Lisa Hickey.
The late Mizukami Sensei said, “Just train.” I don’t have to get somewhere or be someone else. I could just be me. I can aways be better, always be the greater man. Sensei said, “Take a glancing blow. You’re not always going to get away scot-free. It’s one time.” That’s not only for the bigger stronger man trying to punch my head off. I take a hit, take a risk for what’s meaningful to me. That’s the possibility of having a meaningful life.
Ishibashi Sensei taught me the purpose of Aikido is to release my fear. I get under the attack, in the danger. That’s the safest place to be. I hold my position. Make my timing. I apply the Aikido technique to myself, not to the attacker. It’s me against me. I open up. I let go my fear inside that I’m not good enough over, and over, and over again. I’m quiet inside. I’m strong inside.
In therapy with Lance Miller to heal the relationship with my late Dad and my childhood trauma, I forgive Dad for not knowing how to be a father. He only did what his Dad had done to him when he was a little boy. He didn’t know any better. Dad had it far worse from his Dad than I had from him. I forgive Dad for being afraid inside, like me. I forgive him for being imperfectly human, like me too. I forgive myself for not being strong enough as a little boy to stand up to Dad and protect Mom. Dad was bigger and stronger than me. I was the little boy. I was weak.
On the Good Men Project with my Editor Lisa Hickey, I write about loving and forgiving thine own self for the person, who could have been like me suffering in “I’m not good enough.” Their voice inside saying that, might not even be their own voice. They can look inside themselves. Find that they are good enough. Find they are strong. They always were. They can create their new voice inside, “I’m okay.”
I’ve traveled the long road to love myself for who I am and forgive myself for who I’m not. Along the path, I let go I’m not good enough, let go I’m weak over, and over, and over again. I don’t thank my late Dad for saying I was weak, for making me feel that I was not good enough. Although that inspired me become, who I am.
When I was a little boy, I was weak. Weak was my life sentence. Maybe, I could change that. I put my head down. Put in the work. I worked on myself, not on others. I’m forever grateful for Mom, Mizukami Sensei, Ishibashi Sensei, Lance Miller, Lisa Hickey, and others who helped me define my path.
It might have been way better to get where I am, sooner than later. That’s the no-brainer. Still, I’m here. I learned that words can make a difference: What I say; how I say. I had forsaken fatherhood many years ago for fear that I might become like my Dad, even with my greatest intentions not to be. That ship sailed a long time ago.
As Sensei, I can give back what I didn’t get when I was a little kid: hope and heart. In Aikido, I teach 15-year-old Jason to throw iriminage (clothesline technique to the attacker’s head) with his feeling out, from his strength inside, from his one point, ki. I’ve practiced iriminage for over 35 years. Maybe, I’m stronger, only because I’ve practiced for so long. Jason makes Aikido his own, as he invents himself, as he finds his own path. I help guide him on this path.
When Jason doesn’t get it, I show him what to do. I say, “Do it again.” When he does it, I say, “That’s it. Now, do it again.” Jason finds his strength within, that he was always strong inside. I help him locate his strength inside faster than I found mine. That’s the way.
Many years ago, I told an Aikido student, “Everyone’s zero is different.” We have different zeroes, different starting points, because we’re all different. My zero was “I am weak.” I put my head down. Put in the work. Just train.
In Masters of the Universe, Adam transforms into He-Man, played by Nicholas Galitzine, the Most Power Man in the Universe. That’s a long way from weak little Adam, crying on the ground. No, I’m not He-Man. Still, I’m greater than where I started, greater than my zero.
It’s not like you have to get somewhere or be someone else. Things have a way of working out. Someone I loved, taught me that, long ago. Love yourself for who you are and forgive yourself for who you’re not. Just train.
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Photo: iStock
