I’m the big fan of Actor and Martial Artist Dolph Lundgren, who played the iconic Ivan Drago in Rocky IV (1985). Dolph is 68 years old, 6’ 5”, and handsome. I’m 63 years old, 5’ 3”, and not handsome. Still, we’re Spiritual Twins.
Dolph is 4th degree black belt in Kyokushin Karate and has a master’s degree in chemical engineering. I’m 5th degree black belt in Aikido and have a master’s degree in electrical engineering. We both grew up with abusive fathers in the 1960’s, during less enlightened days. Dolph’s father physically beat him and his mother. I didn’t suffer that scale of abuse. Dad hit some and constantly yelled at me. He terrorized and hit my Mom. Dolph and I are very much alike in what matters, for good and bad.
When you’re abused, you can either fight or run away. Dolph’s Dad was as big as he is now. My Dad was way stronger than me. Neither were options for us. So, we froze. We kept all that anger and fear inside us. However, all the anger and fear has to come out sometime.
Dolph took karate when he was a kid. My Mom made me take Aikido when I was 12 years old. Martial arts was a constructive way to get out that anger and fear inside, and learn honor, respect, and discipline. Later in life Dolph and I participated in therapy to heal our childhood trauma and depression. We’re Spiritual Twins, who separately shared the common journey.
In 2023 on IN DEPTH with Graham Bensinger, Dolph Lundgren poignantly discussed his cancer remission and his abusive childhood journey. Growing up in Sweden, Dolph said, “My way to feel special was that I was very good at school.”
When I was 12 years old, I was the fat, short, ugly, nerd, who wasn’t good at any sports. I was Dad’s greatest disappointment in life. I wasn’t physically strong, but I knew I was smart. School was the one thing that I was good at, too.
Dolph’s Dad would beat him and his Mom, regularly. He said that when he was 8 or 9 years old, “He would beat me up. Kick me in the body. Kind of tear off my hair.” As a little boy, Dolph said he had to “Prove to the world that I wasn’t a loser.” I had to constantly prove myself. I wasn’t good enough for Dad. I wasn’t good enough to anyone else, especially me.
Of his karate training, Dolph said, “I suppose some of the reason behind doing all that training was to get back at him (Dad) or stand up to him. But you know, life is strange. By the time you’re 18 and you shoot up, and you’re 6’ 3” and 200 pounds. Then Dad in the meantime has gotten weak and got sick. And martial arts teaches you respect and teaches you not to misuse it. So, I couldn’t just, you know, take a train back home just to beat him up. That wasn’t my personality.”
That wasn’t what Dolph was taught in martial arts. That’s not what I was taught, too.
When I was 12 years old, although my Mom made me take Aikido, I was good at it. Aikido was the only physical thing I was good at. I had an affinity. I loved Aikido. I think that I trained so hard and got as good as I could so that Dad couldn’t fuck with me, anymore. I was so tired of being bullied. I was so very sad.
After 2 years of training, I quit Aikido so that I could concentrate on my studies at Iolani School, the prestigious private college prep school that my parents paid a lot of money at the time. I had to be good at school, had to be smart. That’s all I had. At least, I thought so at the time.
After graduate school, when I started working in Los Angeles, I began training in Aikido again. I met the late Mizukami Sensei. Sensei got that I had to prove I was not a loser, that I was good enough, because I feared inside that I’m not good enough. Sensei said, “Just train.” I didn’t have to get somewhere or be someone else. For the first time in my life, I could just be me. I put my head down. Put in the work. Practice makes the unnatural natural.
In Aikido, Mizukami Sensei taught, “Wait it out. Enter the attack. Take a glancing blow if you have to. You’re not always going to get away scot-free. It’s one time.” I learned to take a hit, take a risk for what’s meaningful to me. That’s having a meaningful life. Mizukami Sensei was a father to me. Although Sensei passed away several years ago, he still stands by my side.
Sensei taught me to be of service to others and make a difference. Because he taught me, I became my Dad’s protector. My Dad became the weakened old man over the years. Yes, life is strange. I was Dad’s protector, what he never was for me as a little boy. I loved Dad, the whole man, both good and bad. I got the good and bad in myself, too We were both imperfectly human.
Of his Dad, Dolph said, “He had mental issues.” He said, “My grandfather, his Dad, used to be a hard drinker and he was very violent, too. My Dad was a sensitive young boy, and somebody really abused him. I forgive him, because I knew that he didn’t want to be that way… I really had to do therapy to really forgive him.”
Working with my therapist Lance Miller, I got that as bad as I had it from Dad, he had it far worse from his Dad. The tragic legacy of abusive fathers. I forgave Dad for being afraid inside, for not knowing how to be a father, and for being imperfectly human. I forgive myself for not being strong enough to stand up to Dad as a little boy and protect Mom. I forgive myself for being imperfectly human, too.
Host Graham Bensinger asked what made Dolph so emotional speaking about his father. He poignantly said, “I wish that he (Dad) didn’t have that illness, so that I could have connected with him, the nice part of him… I wish I would have been there to help him.”
I got to see the nice part of my Dad, the good man, who had suffered in life. In the First Noble Truth of Buddhism, there will always be suffering in life. Every July for 17 years before Dad passed away, we spent a week fishing in Kenai, Alaska. Fishing was the great love of Dad’s life. He was never more alive, never more free than when he fished for sockeye salmon at his favorite spot on the banks of the Kenai River. Dad shared his love of fishing with me. He shared his love, too. I loved Dad.
In my eulogy for Dad in Honolulu, I said, “I like to think that Dad is fishing at his favorite spot on the banks of the Kenai. That he’s happy. That he’s at peace. Rest in peace, Dad. I love you.”
I handled my own bullshit, opened up, and saw I Dad, I forgave him. Dad did the best that he could. I believe that we all do the best that we can. Sometimes that gets lost in the translation, in the suffering. Let it go. Forgive. Love. Amen.
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Photo by Simon HUMLER on Unsplash
