I don't understand the logic here. Why do you want to teach for free? If you don't care about the money, you can donate your earning to Salvation Army.
It's not the money. It's the principle - There is no free lunch on this planet. Students won't appreciate your knowledge if they don't have to pay you.
I know you have a deep seated love for Martial Arts. I do, too. All our circumstances are different.
No free lunch? Sure there is, come to my house, Iāll feed you. Iāve had students live at my mothers house for upwards of a year at a time. They all became ā her boysā. It was known to just about everyone as Ma Bukaās House for the Weak and the Wicked. (They made that up, not me) And they were under the same strict rules they had at the dojo.
Why would I do something like that? Because I was in a position to do so at the time.
As far as them not appreciating the knowledge, I beg to differ. They still write me, their kids (now adults) still write me. They have gone on to live, successful, productive, happy lives. One of them is my attorney. He has never charged me a dime, is an absolute gentleman and a savage in the courtroom.
One time, back in the day, a student, twenty years old, came running into the dojo, obviously scared out of his mind. Someone had chased him there. The dojo was next to the district police station and there were a handful of cops training inside at that moment. We went charging out, saw a car speeding away, got a look at the driver. We knew he was a drug dealer because he had the look. Yeah, yeah, I know, itās wrong to profile. (BS)
Anyway, we all went back in and had a long talk with the student. He owed them 250 bucks. We had it paid off, got word to them that if they ever came back to anywhere even near us, that it would not go well for them. Everything worked out, we got the student in rehab, brought him back the day he got out yada, yada, yada.
I was living here on the islands when 9/11 happened. I went back east shortly after and went back into Law Enforcement. Moved back into what had been my childhood home which I had been renting. Iām outside, on my hands and knees pulling weeds from around the bottom of the fence.
A passing car screeches to a stop and backs up. Iām thinking āwhat the hell is this?ā
A family gets out. A mom, dad and three children, the kids ten to fifteen years old. As they approach they start to cry. Thatās when I recognized the dad. He had been the twenty year old who the drug dealers chased into the dojo.
He was now late forties, a successful business man, a good family man. His family started to hug me, crying, thanking me for saving their dad's life when he was young. Wasnāt long till I started to cry, too. Actually felt a little guilty because I hadnāt even thought of him in twenty years. Apparently, he was honest with his family and wanted to make sure none of the kids took the wrong path like he almost had. They knew of me like I was a family member.
Iāll take that over a paycheck any day.
Another time, the Knife Fighting group (we called them ātribesā) I trained with was having a Christmas get together with tribes from all over New England. It was held in a big restaurant/night club. There were twenty five tables of us, a lot of whom never met before. There also were tables of people spread throughout that were not part of our tribes.
I can feel someone staring at my back. The hairs on my neck were standing up. I drop my napkin and pick it up, taking a peek under my arm. Itās a big, serious looking man, and he is staring at me intensely. All Iām thinking is, āSon, you are in the wrong place at the wrong time, staring at the wrong people.ā (especially since a lot of us were cops and were all carrying)
I feel him get up and start to approach. So I just stood up and turned. I donāt recognize him. And he is a big, strong, fit, serious looking dude. Then he spoke, asked if I was Mister Buka. I recognized the voice. It was Sean.
Trained him as a kid. His folks split up, couldnāt pay the paltry tuition we charged and he wouldnāt be able to come anymore. I insisted that he did, that his tuition had been taken care of. Just get your butt to the dojo and donāt you dare let your school work suffer or Iāll beat your narrow ***.
He was now a Boston cop, leader of a SWAT team. Told me that what we had done for him at the dojo completely changed his life. And something he learned at the dojo saved his life when he got shot as a cop.
You canāt make that ship up. Iāll take that over a paycheck any day of the week.
Besides, if you go into Martial Arts to make money, man, have a got a bridge I want to sell you.