Chapter 11

There was a blinding pain in his right eye, and George released his clinch on his opponent to push him away. After backing a few steps away, George gingerly touched his eye with his fingers and checked to see if there was any bleeding. He didn’t see any, but he couldn’t see much of anything since his eye was screaming in pain. George glared at his opponent, a well-built kid about his age with nice hair, who shrugged. It was as if to say “This is a fight, and we agreed to no rules”. George hated the smirk on his face.

The Krav Maga instructor had been fighting dirty like he didn’t know any other way. George remembered what the guy had boasted before they began their challenge match: “Krav is made for serious, no-nonsense self-defense. It’s not made for fighting with rules.” Hector then agreed that the match would only have one rule, and that was that there would be no weapons. George wasn’t surprised by the decision, the two of them had known this would be the only way to convince the Krav school to agree to the challenge match.

“I actually have a lot of respect for Krav Maga,” Hector had said to him the day before. “I just hate how these guys claim their art is the best and yet they never test it in competition. I mean, sure, those Israeli commandos prove they’re tough but they’ve got guns and knives, don’t they? And they’re soldiers with way more training. I want these civilian Krav guys to show me that their stuff works.”

Hector told George that Krav Maga was the fighting style developed by some Jews during the Holocaust, a primarily striking art that focused on speed and explosiveness to win. It had even picked up some grappling moves along the way. And, George was learning, it focused heavily on fighting with no restrictions.

Ignoring the pain in his eye, George lunged forward, looking for the takedown. He remembered from his last attempt, before he’d been thumbed in the eye, he’d been solidly kicked in the groin, taking the momentum from his takedown attempt and forcing him to clinch with the guy instead. As it had turned out, the guy knew his way around the clinch, and had battered George’s head until George had finally adjusted his clinch to take the power from the guy’s punches. When he did, the guy went for his eye.

George knew what would happen as he shot in this time. Just as he thought, the leg shot up towards his groin as he approached, but George knew it was coming. George neither was able nor wanted to avoid the kick completely, so he exhaled sharply and folded over the leg, taking the shot to his stomach and keeping it there. It hurt, but George paid it no heed. He’d got what he’d aimed for! George clutched the leg to his chest and rotated his body, dragging the swearing Krav instructor to the ground.

The Krav instructor, to his credit, went to his back and tried to trap George between his knees. It was nothing George had not expected, however, and he’d quickly passed the man’s legs and soon had his knee on the young man’s stomach. The pressure of his body weight focused into the small area of his knee made his opponent gasp.

George nearly missed the hand as it shot straight for his groin. Is that the only part of the body these guys like to hit, he thought to himself. So many martial artists seemed to think this was a weakness of Jiu-jitsu fighters. George pinned the hand to the ground with his own and slid his knee to the other side of the man’s chest. Now in the mount position, George laid forward so that his chest pressed his opponent’s face into the floor. With his whole body laying flat on top of him, George would have liked to see him try to reach for his groin again. The Krav instructor, seeming to know his predicament, didn’t go for it.

George took his time working the shoulder lock. His opponent didn’t bite him, as George suspected he would try, probably because he knew George would elbow him in the face if he tried. As he bucked and thrashed, contorting himself into strange, bent shapes in an attempt to get George off of him, George simply locked the pinned wrist into the simple figure-four hold and cranked the elbow up. The sound of the Krav instructor’s hand slapping the floor echoed through the large training room.

Ten minutes later George and Hector were walking outside to Hector’s truck. They were untying their belts and loosening their gi tops embroidered with the monstrous oni on the sleeves. Hector casually handed several hundred dollar bills to his friend, and the two of them climbed into the truck and started the forty-five minute drive back to their homes in Vacaville. The sun was setting.

George shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He tried shifting weight off of his sore groin. “Why is it every place we go to that says they’re a street-based martial art seems to base their entire strategy around punching me in the nads?” he demanded.

Hector chuckled. “I think they expect you to bend over and fall down, you know, like in the movies.”

“I did fall down,” Hector reminded him, “I just took him down with me.”

They laughed and recounted their favorite moments of the match that day. George pulled his gi top from where he had laid it in the back and examined it. Hector handed him a small circular patch. “They have a cool-looking one,” he said,”

George took the patch and looked for a place for it on his gi top. There were five other patches there, each one taken from each martial arts establishment they’d challenged and beaten. George had fought all their fights, and he was very proud of his collection of victories sewn into the cloth of his gi. He kept his gi carefully hidden when he was back in his apartment above the academy, and so he cherished the little moments when he could take it out and admire it. It was like his own personal coat-of-many-colors. And his favorite decoration on that gi was still his own, the oni mask above the words “DEMONIC MARTIAL ARTS”. He wished he had more logos to make. He decided then he would try to do his own version of the Brotherhood Jiu-jitsu logo. The snake eating its own tail was beginning to grow on him.

“Too bad we can’t challenge Ricardo,” said Hector. “That would be a cool patch to put on there.”

“What are you talking about?” asked George. “Why would you want to? I mean, we’re out here proving Jiu-jitsu is the best, why try to match Jiu-jitsu versus Jiu-jitsu?”

“No,” Hector corrected him, “We’re out here proving we’re the best. This isn’t about Jiu-jitsu.”

“It was for me,” said George. “At least it was when we started.”

“Yeah, but we’re past that now. We’re not in this to prove one style is better than another. We’re doing this to prove you’re a great fighter. Remember?” Hector had been looking at George, and when his eyes focused on the road again he immediately swerved to keep himself from going off the road. “Sorry. I’m just saying it would be cool to have that notch on our belts. He’s still seen as a legend. And he kind of sees himself that way.”

“Really?” asked George. “I never got that from him.”

“Oh, come on. That whole family honor and my father’s legacy crap? He plays it up. There’s not really anything wrong with it, don’t get me wrong. He’s a business man. I’d do it too. I’m just saying there’s also nothing wrong with wanting that kind of victory, you know what I mean? I mean, to beat Ricardo or one of his black belts? That would label you as a ‘Gracia Slayer’, you know what I mean?”

George shrugged. “It kinda seems lame, though. Fighting your own dojo. I don’t think I’d want to do that, even if I thought I could win.”

“We could start our own dojo. Our own academy,” said Hector. “That would be cool.”

George nodded. He thought having your own dojo would be pretty amazing.

“My birthday’s coming up next month,” said George.

“Well, we’d better make it a good one.”

 

It was getting dark when George stepped out of Hector’s truck. He waved and walked to the front doors of the academy and took his keys from his bag. To his surprise, the door moved at his touch, before he even put in the key. He pulled the handle, and the door opened freely. Had he left it unlocked when he’d left earlier that afternoon?

George took his eyes off the door and looked behind him into the parking lot. Hector’s truck was gone, but he saw another vehicle he recognized. He hadn’t noticed Ricardo’s SUV under the shade of a tree when he arrived, but he could see it now. When he looked back inside the academy he could barely make out the outline of a man leaning out of the office door. It was Ricardo waving his hand for George to come inside.

George quickly looked at the gi top in his hands. One that he’d never shown Ricardo, since it was evidence that he’d been breaking his rules. He quickly turned it inside out, hiding the patches taken from the defeated martial arts schools. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

When George reached Ricardo’s office, Ricardo was sitting at his desk reading domething on his computer. He had his glasses on, something George didn’t see very often.

“George, good to see you. Didn’t mean to startle you. I just have some insurance information to go through. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of things you have to worry about when you run a school where people are encouraged to fight each other.” Ricardo removed his glasses and looked at George. His look turned to puzzlement. “George, why are you still wearing your gi?”

George had trained earlier that morning, and he’d worn one of his four normal gis. Though his oni gi was white, like the others, it was a different cut and texture. George hoped Ricardo wouldn’t notice the difference, especially since he was about to lie.

“I, uh, I actually went to hang out with a friend right after class and I didn’t take the time to change,” he said. He hated the way the lie made his guts twist. He didn’t like this at all.

Ricardo nodded, tapping his teeth with the frame of his glasses. Finally he said, “With Hector?” George nodded, wondering if Ricardo guessed he’d been with his friend for the reason he was fearing. “That’s not very sanitary to keep wearing your gi like that after you train. It needs to be aired out and washed as soon as possible. And you need to shower right afterwards, too. You don’t want to develop a skin infection.”

George nodded, tightening his grip on his gi top. “I will. You’re right.” He just wanted to get back to his room and stow it away.

But Ricardo seemed to be in the mood to talk. “How’s Summer?” he asked.

“Good,” George answered. In fact, things were great with his girlfriend, and George would have normally said more, but it didn’t occur to him in his desperation to get to his room.

Ricardo stopped fiddling with his glasses and put them on his desk. His hand reached, impulsively, George thought, for the framed photo of his father. He began to rub the warn frame with his thumb, though he didn’t look at it.

“Your father still coming to visit for Christmas?” he asked.

“Yeah. He’s got the tickets and everything.”

“Good, good.” Ricardo looked down at the frame in his hands and seemed to be surprised it was there. He placed it back on his desk and smiled at George. “I can’t wait to see him. Well, I’ve still got a lot to do here, and I’m sure you’ve got things you want to do.”

He sure did.

“I’ll see you later,” Ricardo said with warmth.

“See you.” The words had barely left his mouth before he’d turned and walked away. George took the stairs two steps at a time and burst through his apartment door and threw himself on his bed. Then he jumped off his bed and stripped off his oni gi and stowed it away in its bag under the bed. He resolved to wash it later when Ricardo had gone home.

Again George threw himself on his bed, sighing with relief. He thought he’d been holding his breath through his whole conversation with Ricardo. He didn’t know exactly what might happen if Ricardo found out he’d been competing behind his back, but he was certain he never wanted to find out.

George sat up and started massaging the muscles in his forearm, where his skin had begun to feel like it was crawling.

 

George pushed a dust mop down the hallway. He’d worked a little over thirty hours that week, more than he normally did. The school was empty now that school had let out for the holidays, and George was looking forward to having a few weeks break from work. He was also grateful the students were gone already. It was strange for George to see them walking and talking and eating and going from class to class, perhaps because he was the same age as many of the seniors and still had so much in common with them. He even saw a few boys that reminded him of himself a little, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel he was worlds away from these kids whose entire world was made up of going to school, a few extracurricular activities and their friends.

George was past that now, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this new life he was in was harder somehow. It wasn’t so much that people expected so much more of him now than they did when he was in school. It was that so many people expected different things from him, and he couldn’t satisfy everyone. In school it had been easy. Get reasonable grades, don’t break the law, and listen to your parents (within reason) and everyone was pretty pleased with you. But now it was so different. Hector wanted one thing for George, and Ricardo wanted another. He couldn’t please them both, and the consequences for disappointing either of them felt dire.

George stowed the dust mop in its place in the janitor’s closet and removed the small, cheaply made badge from where it was clipped to his work shirt. He found the outdated computer where he clocked in and out and logged his hours for the day.

Pablo had been nice enough to let George borrow his car to drive to the airport. It was a little more than an hour’s drive to Oakland, which seemed to George like an eternity. Fifteen minutes into his drive he decided he needed company and called Summer. Though his arm began to cramp from holding the phone to his ear for so long, it helped to pass the time to hear her laugh and talk and fuss at him.

“Okay, I’m pulling up to the parking garage now. I should probably let you go,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “Have fun with your dad! And don’t worry. I know he’ll be proud of you. You’ve done some cool things since you came to Vacaville.”

George rolled his eyes. “Somehow I don’t think he’ll be satisfied until I’m in college or something.”

“I doubt it,” she disagreed. “I don’t think you going to college has anything to do with him being satisfied with you. I think he’s just like my parents. He wants you to be so much better off than he was.”

George still suspected a handful of lectures on plans and ambition before his dad finally flew back home. In fact, George was so convinced his father would be disappointed with his son that he had a hard time imagining what else the two of them would talk about.

George took a minute to knead the tingling feeling out of his forearms before he switched off the car and went into the terminal.

“Look at you!” Ignacio said as he wrapped his arms around George. “You look huge. You look like you’re really bulking up.” He grabbed George’s chin and turned his face from side to side, like he was appraising him. “No cauliflower ear. You’re lucky to have such beautiful, delicate ears for how much grappling you do.”

George laughed. It was good to see his old man after all. He’d kept himself so busy with training and life that he’d forgotten how much he’d missed his old man. He’d called him about once a week since he’d been in California, but there seemed to be so much less to say when he wasn’t with him looking him in the eye and feeling his hand on his shoulder. He hugged him again before the two of them walked towards the huge, buzzing baggage claim.

George hardly felt the ride back to Vacaville. It seemed so short with his father there to talk to him. Ignacio filled his son in on things happening back home. Things the neighbors had done. People who’d been asking about George. George’s friends who’d stopped by to pass along messages to him or ask when he was returning to Williamsburg. So much seemed to have changed since he’d left, and at the same time everything sounded exactly the same.

George also noticed how old his father looked. He’d never before noticed his father’s thinning hair or the wrinkles forming on his forehead and neck. He decided that his father and Ricardo seemed to age in the same way, and their relation became more apparent as the two of them got older. They looked even more alike now than in the photo of them as young men George had seen hanging on Ricardo’s office wall.

George pulled the car into the driveway in front of Ricardo’s home. Before the two of them were all the way out of the vehicle, the front door opened and Ricardo came out to greet them, his arms open to embrace the favorite cousin he hadn’t seen in years.

George hadn’t seen so much enthusiastic greeting and meeting since he himself had first shown up at Ricardo’s house. The two men were full of memories to share with each other, and Ricardo’s wife seemed to have been cooking all day by the sheer volume of food she kept wheeling out of the kitchen on a small cart and placing in front of everyone.

“What is this?” asked Ignacio, his mouth full of food.

“Tuna steak,” answered Ricardo.

“This is tuna?” Ignacio said as he made a show of delighting in another bite. “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve eaten a meal like this. Especially since the boy left home and I’ve been cooking for myself.”

“Well, you need a woman in the house. If you like I’ve got a friend I can introduce you to,” chimed in Ricardo’s wife.

“Speaking of which,” Pablo interrupted, “has this little stag told you about his own little ‘friend’? George, have you told your dad about Summer?”

George laughed and argued that he hadn’t told his father nothing, though everyone in the room agreed that saying you’re talking to a girl is not the same as saying you’re going steady with her.

The evening seemed to ride on a wave of merriment and fond memories, and George didn’t want it to end for a long time.

Ignacio had the guest room in Ricardo’s home to call his own for the week. George took the time to go with his father to good restaurants, movie theaters, and the Brotherhood Jiu-jitsu Academy. Ignacio sat in one of the many chairs that sat at the edge of the blue matting and watched his son train, the expression on his face both interested and proud.

George also showed his father his apartment above the academy, which George had the good sense to clean before his father had arrived. He’d even vacuumed the carpet.

“Wow, son. You’re living the bachelor’s dream,” Ignacio said as his eyes took in the studio apartment. “You seem to have a few new toys.”

George’s room had transformed from the empty, simple space he’d moved into that summer. A 42 inch LCD television hung from the wall opposite the bed. Hector had helped him install it. There was also an Xbox, a Blu-ray player and a new backpack in the corner where George kept his oni gi. The room seemed decorated by new, if not expensive, products.

“Yeah, well, a friend of mine gave them to me for a good price. He said a lot of them fell off the back of a truck.”

Ignacio’s gaze snapped to George, his expression alarmed and furious. “What did you say?” he demanded.

George laughed, and a moment later his father’s face softened as he shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t do that to me, son,” he said.

“I couldn’t help it,” George gasped between fits of laughter. “I just wanted to see the expression on your face!” He then reassured his father that he’d bought all of it from the store himself.

“I thought you were only working part time at the school,” Ignacio said.

“I am, but I do a few little things on the side with a friend,” answered George, wiping away a tear. “And don’t worry, it’s legal.”

 Ignacio took another look around the room at his son’s belongings, his expression unreadable. A moment later they left.

 

Ignacio slumped into a chair in Ricardo’s office. It was the first time during Ignacio’s vacation that the two of them had been alone. Ignacio seemed tired as he slouched in the chair, his eyes scanning the many photographs on the wall. Ricardo came in with two bottles of cola in his hands. He handed one to his cousin.

“You can still find them in the glass bottles?” Ignacio asked, tracing a pattern in the bottles condensation with his finger. He twisted the cap off and took an ice cold sip.

“Yeah, well, I always like to keep a few bottles around for nice occasions. Do you remember, Nacho?”

Ignacio nodded. “Sitting between the sheets on your mother’s clotheslines. Drinking these and talking about everything. Our plans.”

“Who knew it would be this way, right?” asked Ricardo as he took another sip.

“Who knew?” Ignacio repeated. Then he changed the subject. “How is my son?”

Ricardo shrugged. “I can’t say I’ve been able to help him as much as we’ve been hoping,” he answered. “I thought by teaching him Jiu-jitsu he’d get the urge to fight out of his system. Keep it suppressed enough to let him realize he’s got to have more in his life than just this. That’s why I had him live in the academy. I hoped he’d get tired of it. But he hasn’t yet. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Ricardo,” said Ignacio. His eyes were fixed on one photo in particular. Two young men, one a boxer, the other a Jiu-jitsu fighter, both of them facing each other with their fists up. Smiling. “Which one of us do you think he’ll be like? You or me?”

Ricardo shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll be like either of us. I don’t think he’ll make our mistakes.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ignacio asked.

“Because he’s got us.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. Both of them were deep in thought. It was Ignacio who broke the silence first.

“Have you seen his room?”

“You mean the TV and electronics and stuff?”

“Yeah.” Ignacio drained the last of his cola. “How do you think he got that much money? He’s just a janitor, right?”

Ricardo shrugged. “He does have a friend. One of my students, a little older than him. They run around together. Maybe it has something to do with him. But I seriously doubt he’s been doing anything illegal, Nacho. George is a good boy. He’s sensitive.”

“Any idea where the money’s coming from?” Ignacio asked.

Ricardo shook his head for a second but stopped. “I might have an idea. If it is what I think it is, I’ll put an end to it. And I think I know how to do it. There’s been something George has been wanting from me. I think if I give it to him it might help things.”

“Whatever you think,” said Ignacio. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Seeing all that stuff, you know. I want my son to have nice things, like any father. But I know he’s not saving his money for anything. Whether he’s coming by all that cash illegally or not, he’s blowing all of it.” Ignacio tossed his bottle in a small waste bin in the corner. He looked at his cousin.

“You have sons. You’ve been through all this. Do you think I’m doing this wrong?”

Ricardo shook his head again. “One day your son is going to ask you the same thing about his kid because you’ve been through it before, and you’re going to realize you still don’t know. You just do your best and hope good things happen. And remember, we’re not talking about a bad kid here. George is a really good kid. We’re just trying to make him better.”

 

Christmas was the most fun in George’s memory. It was not that Christmas had been unimportant to him and his father, but it was usually a quiet day for the two of them, since Ignacio and George lived far away from any living family. George suspected it would have been very different if his mother had not died. The Gracia family, with many relatives in Southern California, made the holiday a big affair with many visitors, decorations, and childhood stories.

“And my brothers told me they’d found where my parents had hidden our presents,” recounted Ricardo. “They led me to an old shed my father used for tools.”

Pablo, having heard the story before, was beside himself with laughter. So were his older brothers. George was sure his father had heard this one, too. In fact, he was sure this story was being told solely for his benefit.

“They said I was the only one light enough to climb the shelves without breaking them, and so I did. When I got to the top shelf, all I found was an enormous wasp’s nest. Before I could get away, my brothers slammed the door shut and tied it with a piece of chain. Then they started beating on the shed with sticks, upsetting the wasps. My mother heard my howling and let me out. By the time she was done with my brothers, they looked just as swollen and hurt as I did!”

Mrs. Gracia brought out a tray of cookies, and her sons and husband fell on them like a hoard, Christmas being one of the few times they allowed themselves to indulge in sweets. George took a few for himself, wondering what it might have been like to have a mother at Christmas time. Would she have baked cookies like this? He liked to think so. And he liked spending Christmas this way. From the look on his father’s face, he was enjoying it all as much as he was. Maybe even more.

The Gracia family tradition was like that of the Peligro family, to open gifts on Christmas eve. Ricardo produced a camera from somewhere and started snapping away. Also like George’s father, the Gracias were generous in their gift giving.

Ignacio opened a card from Ricardo’s wife. “This is a picture of a woman,” he said, confused.

“Her number is on the back. And she’s a wonderful cook,” she suggested.

The room broke into laughter while Ricardo’s wife questioned what was so funny and Ignacio hung his head in mock shame.

“Okay, okay. George is next,” announced Ricardo. The laughter died down as Pablo and Ricardo carefully brought out a large, rectangular present that was wrapped in red and gold paper. As soon as it was in front of George, Pablo also gave him a smaller wrapped present. “This one first,” he instructed him.

George tore away the paper and found a neat stack of packaged pencils and pens on top of a heavy pad of paper.

“I see you drawing a lot. I thought you could do better than lined paper or the sheets you steal from the office copier,” said Pablo.

George grinned from ear to ear. “Thanks. This is really cool.” In truth he’d really had wanted to keep drawing, maybe try to get better at it, though for what he couldn’t say. Since he’d designed the oni gi, he wondered what other things he could come up with. T-shirts, maybe?

“This one is from me and Ariana,” said Ricardo, holding hands with his wife. “We think you’ll like it.”

George grabbed the paper and pulled, and found that the paper wasn’t wrapped around a box, but a wire cage. It reminded him of a bird cage, and it was full of plant-like perches and plastic foliage. Clinging to one of the perches was a small animal, smaller than a squirrel, with large, dark eyes and black stripes that started on its face and went down its body, which ended in a bushy tail. It was quiet and still, but it didn’t appear to be afraid of him. Another creature of the same type poked its head out of a small, ball-shaped bauble that seemed to serve as a sort of hanging nest. George had no idea what they were, though he couldn’t deny they were unbelievably cute animals.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a sugar glider,” said Mrs. Gracia. “Kind of like a flying squirrel. We figured you might get lonely up there in your apartment so we decided you needed a pet or two.”

As the evening wore on, George became fascinated by the small creatures and increasingly more fond of them. They seemed to come to life the later the hour, and he guessed their big eyes meant they were nocturnal. Just like me, he thought. He soon saw why they were called sugar gliders. One of the creatures, the one snuggling in the ball-like nest, jumped and glided from one end of the cage to the other. Though it was a short distance, it was enough for George to see the thin webbing of skin connecting the short legs that seemed to turn the pet into a living kite. Once he’d learned to tell the animals apart by the markings on their heads, he decided to name them Shinobi and Shuriken, words from ninja lore he’d learned from comics and late-night cartoons. They just seemed right.

It was a few days later before Ignacio gave his son his own gift. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of the others,” he told George. “I didn’t want there to be any pressure.”

The two of them were parked next to the airport terminals. George had been so caught up in the euphoria of the holidays he hadn’t even realized his father hadn’t actually given him a gift. He’d received so many, including the sugar gliders, the art supplies, some clothing and even a new MMA video game from Hector. But the thought of a present his father might think would put pressure on him worried George. “What is it?” he asked, bracing for some awkward thing.

“I have money put away. I’ve been saving. For you to pick a college.” When George sighed the equivalent of rolling his eyes, Ignacio held up his hands. “Hear me out. I’d been saving this money for a while. For years. It’s enough to get you through a little schooling. I won’t tell you what to do. I won’t tell you which college to pick or what to study. I won’t even tell you when to start. But it’s important to me that you do something. If you try out a semester of school and you don’t want to do any more, you can spend the rest of the money any way you like. I just want you to try it.”

George’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He felt tremendously uncomfortable. “Dad, I wish you wouldn’t think I was lazy.”

“I know you’re not lazy, son,” his father corrected him. “I’ve seen how you can throw yourself into things and work hard at stuff you really care about. Look at your Jiu-jitsu! Ricardo tells me you’re progressing faster than any student he’s ever had. You’re achieving in months what most of his students took years to do. That’s because you’ve been training almost every day. Sometimes twice in a day. Because you care about Jiu-jitsu. But your entire plan for your life cannot just be to train Jiu-jitsu.”

In truth, George had not even thought about turning Jiu-jitsu into his livelihood. He’d simply been training, not thinking any farther ahead than his next class or his next challenge match with Hector. Come to think of it, Hector had mentioned something about starting a dojo.

“Why not?” George asked. “I could teach. I could run an academy. Why can’t I do that?”

Ignacio sighed and seemed to be searching for the right words. “Because you can’t rely on your hobbies to pay for everything, George. Very few people can make a living teaching martial arts.”

“Ricardo does.”

“But Ricardo is a legend. He’s been on television. He has a brand and products and t-shirts with his name on them. And his family started Elite. You don’t have that, George. Ricardo is an exception to the rule. You are not. And even if you were, I wouldn’t want you to.”

George, by this point, was frustrated. He wasn’t used to hearing his father express so little faith in him, and it bothered him. Was it so hard to believe that George could become a great professional fighter? Didn’t his father just say how highly Ricardo regarded him? Why wouldn’t his father want him to teach Jiu-jitsu?

“Why not?” he asked aloud.

“Because it would be a waste of your potential,” he answered. “Because as good as you are at Jiu-jitsu, you’re better at other things. And because you owe it to someone to make something of yourself.”

“Who?” George asked incredulously. “I owe it to who? Myself?” George could not believe his father would try to sway him with such a childish notion. Who was to say what George owed himself? Didn’t he get a say in that.

“Not yourself,” Ignacio said, shaking his head. “You owe it to your mother. And you owe it to me.”

George’s angry thoughts ground to a halt. He was shocked at the clarity of his father’s answer, like someone who’d just been shown something large and obvious he’d never noticed was in front of his face.

“You owe it to your mother and I to be successful and happy.” Ignacio leaned to his son and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, George. I hope you’ll trust your mother and I on this.”

With that he said goodbye to his son and walked to the terminal. George watched him go, a lump developing in his throat. He couldn’t say that he wanted to continue the conversation with his father. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything to say in his own defense. The matter was closed, and the point was made. George knew it. But he didn’t necessarily want his father to leave. He could have done with his company for a little while longer.

He began the long ride back to Vacaville alone.