It was a normal Friday morning. I had just finished with one of my private lessons when Kimberly, the school manger, told me I had a phone call. I asked her if she knew who it was. She said yes and told me who it was. I was surprised. I hadn’t heard from this person for a while. I got on the phone. I said good morning in Korean (that is the only thing I know how to say). He laughed and said good morning also.

My friend, who happens to be one of the most respected martial artists in the world, wanted to come down and spend some time with me. I was honored. I have always looked up to this gentleman.

He arrived about 2:00 p.m. and after a small chit-chat we started talking about the issues and challenges that were going on in his life. During the time he was talking, I started going through my own conversations. I saw myself in him and I recognized the pain he had. He was my mirror.

I stopped trying to help him. I listened quietly to the pain of this warrior. We were in the same war fighting different battles.

He talked about history--history of the arts in Korea and the importance of learning from history. He talked about a matter that really got me thinking. He told me how in the old days the warriors and those who protected the kings were among the top level of society. They were looked upon as noble and being a member of this clan was an honor. He also told me how entertainers and musicians were among the lower class. He talked about how nowadays the things are backwards. The warrior families are gone, having found jobs in restaurants and other places to make a living. He was talking about how in his homeland honor was everything. The arts taught honors. The warriors lived with honors.