Dear Son,

The scents and tastes are more than a man can take to his heart. Everything about such a life has given me purpose. Indeed, I never wanted to be the world's greatest fighter. I wanted to be the world's greatest chef. My spatula would be my saber and my rolling pin would be my shield. I never desired to beat people for money. I wanted to bring people happiness through my culinary talents. I wanted to be like that man on television that always said, "BAM" and then cook something, too bad I forgot that man's name, for it has been many years.

In my early childhood days, my family was very poor. We never had much, but we did have a black and white television, a pathetic excuse for a gas oven, a straw mattress, and some clothing. My family and I would only watch television on Saturdays, since we did not have that much money to pay the electric bill. My father was a chef himself. With a little rice, some cumin seasoning and some flecks of meat, he would make a delicious meal.

I never had the humility to admit it, but in my eyes there was no greater man than my father. Looking back, I wish I had told him how much I respected him. He worked at a rundown shack and he did his best to bring some dignity to his workplace, but alas, he failed. He wanted a better life for his son than that of a cook. He wanted his son to be a martial artist.

I never wanted to disappoint my father, so I agreed to be a fighter, but inside it was never really my passion. I thought about Tae Kwon Do, but that made no sense with so much leg kicks. I pondered mantis style kung fu, but that put half the body at personal risk. I thought about muay thai, but that was too simplistic. I even pondered some grappling art, but the idea of rolling on the ground with other males did not appeal to me. So I just picked Jeet Kune Do, the art of no style and all styles.

My training was rigorous as well as strenuous and at times I wished to quit. Then I met a friend, a judo fighter and kickboxer. He was a rude and arrogant man with a red gi. I honestly could never have met such a hot-blooded individual. Though he had many a fault, he would grow to be my closest friend as well as sparring partner. It turned out that I was quite talented in the art of combat and on occasion would get carried away with my sparring, but still that did not change my dream. My ultimate dream of owning my own restaurant was close to my grasp.

I so dearly wanted to become a chef, but then I got married and life changed. I knew that a restaurant would be too risky, especially with a child out on the way. Soon I was able to enter a high price tournament. It was there that I earned enough money to create my own dojo. I could support my family and that made me happier than anything in the world. My dreams did not matter, for I had the greatest gift of all, you, my son. I wanted to pay for your way through life and send you to the world's best universities. I wanted buy my wife expensive clothing and gifts. I was a fool.

A rival dojo leader burned down my dojo. In my anger I took vengeance upon him and defeated him in another tournament. I tried hard to be the victor this time. I honestly tried as hard as I could. I did every technique found in my arsenal. In the end it was not enough to win the finals. I did, however, make enough money to finally start my own restaurant. It was a fool's hope, but it was my hope. I wanted to finally provide for my family the way that I wanted.

You have no idea the joy a chef feels when he creates masterpiece. You have no idea the amount of love it takes to make something from your heart. We chefs are artists, just like any other artist. Our creations only last one meal, but in those precious moments we are given a strange feeling. I cannot really explain it, but it is sort of like creating life. The sauces and ingredients become part of my spirit. Different ingredients come from all over the world come together to make something wonderful.

When I see my customers eat my food, and then see a smile, it feels with a wonderment one can only imagine. The fact that it was my cooking that made that person smile also makes me smile. That is the beauty of being a chef. You do something you love and you can spread your love to others. It takes patience and skill to satisfy those around you. With all this energy, it is a great insult when a customer looks down upon your cooking. When my restaurant business finally began to boom, I began to expand. One restaurant after another was built and I was intoxicated with money. I forgot what it meant to be a chef and I was absorbed in the ideal of making more cash. I let others do the work for me and my attention was spread throughout Japan. I forgot about my workers, my morality and my customers. My food became tripe that one can easily buy at a fast food diner. Most unfortunate of all, I did not care. I had forgotten who I was and when I finally returned to cooking myself most of my skills were lost. When a customer disdains what you have wrought with you own two hands, it tears you heart apart.

I failed once more. My restaurant went out of business and I was left with nothing. I could not provide for my family. I had nothing once more and it was my own fault. When luck had been put into my hands, I was ungrateful. My own ambition destroyed. Turning away from my own family, I absorbed myself in alcohol. I became the very pit of all creation. No longer was I a man, but a creature without hope, trying my own sorrows in bottles of liquor.

Then you my son, my fool of a son, you saved me. When you were sent to the hospital, it finally awoke me from my lethargy. I had to enter one final tournament and take one last chance. I put away the bottle and trained harder than any man before me. My thoughts were always about you, filled with regret. I wondered if I had not been so drunk, then maybe I could have prevented your pain. I may not always show this, but I love you my son. Though we as men do not show our emotions often, I love more than all the other things in my life. I was given one last shot to show the world that I had not failed as a father. I was able to enter the tournament and you showed have seen me from the audience, not some hospital bed. I put up a great fight and I was finally able to put myself out of debt. In the end, it was not good enough.

I now leave you my son, take care of your mother. You do not need me, for you are better off without me. My entire life has been one failure after another and now I see myself for what I truly I am. I failed as a father, I failed as a chef and I failed as a good provider. Most importantly, I failed as a man. You are now the head of our family and I have no doubt that you will be a far greater man than I ever was.

Sincerely,

Your father.