Chapter 22: Waxing Philosophical
Apparently all these years I’ve had “Karate Kid” all wrong
Author’s note: this is the 22nd chapter in my satirical memoir Dungeons ’n’ Durags: One Black Nerd’s Epic Quest of Self-discovery, Racial Identity, and Crisis of Faith in Trump’s America. Although many of the chapters work perfectly fine autonomously, some are best experienced with context. This is one such chapter.
If you’re all caught up, you can skip the “Previously on” intro. If you want to catch up before reading, start here.
Previously, on Dungeons ’n’ Durags…
My name is Ron. I’m a black man who has lived my entire adult life in a white world. Then the 2016 presidential election threw me for a loop. Friends I thought I knew were saying shit I never dreamed they believed. I had to speak out.
The once nice, apolitical, Christian, “white safe” Ron had become the proverbial “angry black man,” calling white people on their privilege, fellow Christians on their hypocrisy, and causing a ruckus.
Miraculously, an angel dressed as Sam Jackson’s character Jules from “Pulp Fiction” has come to help me “be more black.” (It’s quite possible he’s actually a devil. The jury is still out on that.)
Throughout this journey, Sam pops in every now and then to give me some lesson on blackness. It’s kind of insulting, but I humor him. Sometimes he actually does make me think. The last time I saw him, he got me so riled up, I did something I’ve never done before—I went off on his ass in a display of “the dozens” that surprised even me. I didn’t think I had it in me. (If you don’t know that “the dozens” is, basically, it’s when two people insult one another, each person upping the ante in the viciousness and comedy of the insults. Think of “Your momma so ugly…” jokes).
After whipping him with a biting barrage of repartee, he just laughed. Apparently, he got me riled up on purpose to see what I would do. He had “Miyagi’d” me. Just like Mr. Miyagi had taught Daniel Laruso karate by painting fences and waxing cars, Sam had tricked me into playing the dozens — and being pretty decent at it.
In the last chapter, I had just finished sharing how proud I was getting white people on social media who used to like that old “safe” and “positive Ron” to dump me and stop following me now that I was the “angry black man.” And just as I was making that observation to you fine people, Sam showed up.
Sam: Man! I thought you had lost it when you were telling that breakdance story. But damn! You’ve taken self-delusion to a whole nutha level of grandeur with this muthafuckin’ shit you’re spewing.And that’s where our story picks up…
Me: I notice you always seem to show up right when I’m feeling good about myself, or when I’m having a particularly happy or pleasant memory.Sam: Like when you were reminiscing about all those white bitches you used to like on TV. Oh. I’m sorry. I know that word offends you. Is “ho’s” better?Me: Remember when you told me that one man’s angel is another man’s devil?Sam: Yeah. Are you realizing who I am to you?Me: Yep. Neither. You’re just a pain in the ass.Sam laughs that wise-crackin’ laugh that only Samuel Jackson can do. He holds up his hands as if to surrender and says…
Sam: You got me, homie. You figured me out. I’m just one, giant, spiritual hemorrhoidMe: Well, since you’re here, you might as well drop some knowledge. What great words of wisdom does your mighty blackness want to bestow upon me today?Sam puts his hands down and into the pockets of his black suit. He looks me over. It’s almost as if he peers right into my soul. It’s an uneasy and unsettling feeling. For the briefest moment, he no longer seemed to be Sam Jackson. I can’t explain it. It was sorta creepy. It was as if whatever imp (or angel) was really behind those eyes, the one wearing this Sam Jackson “costume,” for a brief moment broke character and revealed its true nature.
Then, in a flash, Sam was back.
Sam: Remember the last time I was here and you so expertly handled me with a barrage of biting repartee?Me: Yes. I recall.Sam: And you said that I “Miyagi’d” you. Making the reference to the 1984 movie “Karate Kid” and how Mr. Miyagi tricked Daniel into learning ka-ra-tay and shit.Me: Well, technically, I was referencing a line from 2011’s “Crazy Stupid Love” which, in turn, was referencing the aforementioned 80s classic. Why?Sam: Nigga. Do you really talk like that?Me: Like what?Sam: Who the fuck says “aforementioned” in a conversation?Me: Well, as you so frequently like to remind me, this isn’t a conversation. It’s a book.Sam: Touché Ronald. Touché.Me: Anyway, I assume you were going somewhere with the Miyagi reference?Sam: Oh. Yes. Right. Thank you. So, what was it that made Miyagi’s trick so special?Me: Easy. That he got Daniel to learn karate without him knowing he was learning karate.Sam: Let’s see what’s on the board. Survey SAYS! <EHHHHHH>. Nope. Try again muthafucka.Me: There’s no trying again. That IS what makes the trick so special.Sam: Really? Are you sure about that?Me: Yes. I’m sure. I think that’s pretty obvious.Sam: Well, what if I told you that the trick wasn’t that he got Daniel to learn ka-ra-tay by having him paint his fence and clean all his cars. The trick was getting Daniel to clean all his fucking cars and paint that fucking fence, and then convince him he was learning ka-ra-tay.Me: Why do you keep saying “karate” like that?Sam: Isn’t that how you’re supposed to pronounce it?Me: If you’re speaking Japanese. Anyway, with all due respect to your dumbass theory, let me just say, in your own immortal words, “Get the fuck out of here!’ That is NOT what was happening.”Sam: Oh really?!Me: Yes! REALLY!
Sam: You ever heard of Occam’s Razor?Me: I saw “Contact.” Yes, I heard of it.Sam: And?Me: And what?Sam: What does it mean?Me: Something like, all things being equal, the simplest solution is most likely the right one.Sam: Correctomundo. So, Einstein. Tell me. What’s more likely: that an old Japanese dude who’d seen the horrors of war and got his ass put in a fucking concentration camp by the white racists who ran this mutherfuckin’ country, takes the time to teach some spoiled, WHITE ass I-TALIAN kid from the valley the secrets of his country’s most treasured religion and art form through painting a fence and washing cars? OR, he saw a way to get his fence painted and his cars cleaned, then made up that karate shit? Muthafucka, you actually fucking believe you can earn a fucking black belt in ka-ra-tay by waxing on and waxing off?Me: Of course not. It’s a movie.Sam: Yeah, but they had you believing that shit, didn’t they?Sam walks over to me and looks into my eyes.
Sam: You walked out of that fucking theater thinking a limp ass white boy from the valley, with a couple of months at best of “wax on, wax off,” and a 1-legged jump kick, could advance all the way in a black belt tournament to the championship match against real ka-ra-tay black belts who’ve studied for years?Sam just stands there. Hands in his pockets. Looking me dead in the eye. I swallow hard.
Sam: And then what happens in the fucked up sequel? He goes to the heart of Japan itself and beats a young Japanese dude who probably grew up with that shit. How? With some fuckin’ Jack Lalanne hip twist! All the while getting the Japanese people to root for the cute white boy against their own kind. The fuck?!
Me: I. Well. I…guess? It was a movie. You know. Suspension of disbelief and all that.Sam: They say the greatest trick the devil ever played was getting the world to think he doesn’t exist. Well, the greatest trick the Hollywood “devil” ever played was getting a whole world to fucking believe you can become a black belt with wax on and wax off. You and everyone else was fucking indoctrinated into thinking that shit is so easy that anyone can do it by just painting a fence with a limp wrist and shit. In one movie they totally and utterly emasculated one of the most beautiful, meaningful, and difficult-to-master art forms to ever come out of Asia. So in the end, you lost respect for the discipline that goes into it, and you lost respect for the culture behind it.I have to admit. My mind was kinda blown. I had never thought of it like that. I felt the same way I felt after that scene in “Inglorious Basterds” when during the name game with the Germans, we learn about the metaphor of King Kong representing the plight of the Negro brought to America in chains. And that’s when Sam says.
Sam: You remember that scene in “Inglorious Basterds” when…Me: Oh yeah. When, during the name game with the German officers we learn about the metaphor of King Kong representing the plight of the Negro brought over to America in chains? I was just thinking about that!Sam: No nigga. But that WAS a cool scene. No. I’m talking about the end, when the Basterds assassinate Hitler and shit.Me: Oh, that scene. Yes. What about it.Sam: Remember all the flack Quentin got for writing the end that way. They accused him of revisionist history and shit.Me: Yeah. I think I vaguely remember that. So?Sam: So, it’s okay to butcher a beautiful art form like ka-ra-tay, but heaven forbid if you portray the assassination of an asshole like Hitler.Me: I don’t know Sam. I kinda feel like you’re all over the place with these analogies. Do you think you can land this plane? Bring it home. Make it plain. What’s your point?Sam: My point is it’s going to take more than a metaphorical “waxing on and waxing off” for you to become the black man we need in this fight. Pissing off a few ignorant ass white folk on Facebook is hardly a movement on the needle for what needs to get done in this muthafucka, and you basking in the glory of one stupid asshole saying “I want positive Ron back” is a waste of your fucking time.You need to be Miyagi — but not the Hollywood, sanitized edition that sells out his own kind. You need to be the Occam’s Razor, mutherfuckin’ BLACK edition that gets these fascists, racists ass mo-fos to do what YOU want, but make them think they’re getting what they want. You, know, like what wives have been doing to husbands ever since some overbearing, patriarchal asshole man invented the concept of marriage in the first place.Second, recognize and wake up to the fact that you’ve been brainwashed your entire life that the white man can do ANYTHING. That even a skinny, spoiled white kid can go into the heart of Japan, the birthplace of ka-ra-tay…Me: I actually think the roots go back to China.Sam gives me that evil eye.
Me: Sorry. Continue.Sam: That a white kid can go into Japan, and with a corny-ass Richard Marx soundtrack and a lame-ass Richard Simmons move, kick the ass of a Japanese ka-ra-tay master. Wake up Mr. Dawson!Me: I think you meant Peter Cetera.Sam: What?Me: You said Richard Marx, but I’m sure you’re referencing “Glory of Love,” which was by Peter Cetera.Sam: WHO THE FUCK CARES ASSHOLE?! DO YOU GET MY MUTHAFUCKIN’ POINT OR WHAT? JESUS. I’M DONE HERE!With that he turns around, starts to walk out, and vanishes.
Sam says some pretty crazy shit most of the time. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit he really got the wheels in my head turning. Have I gotten “Karate Kid” wrong all these years?
Shiiiiit! That asshole had me for a minute. Ka-ra-tay my ass.
Hmmm?
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