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If it wasn’t for Taekwondo, I wouldn’t be writing this book. Like many of you, I’ve had my share of ups and downs, sleepless nights caused by stress, doubt, and fear of failure. I can honestly say Taekwondo has saved my mental, physical, and spiritual health.
I’ve been in the fitness industry since I was a teenager and have been a practitioner of the martial arts for over 40 years. I learned from watching my father, Grandmaster Suh Chong Kang. During summers when most of my friends were away at camp or out all day playing sports or hanging out, I was stuck at the Do Jang (Taekwondo school) in Brooklyn, NY. My father held a very high position in the Taekwondo community, and because of this, he was frequently out of town at seminars, tournaments, and belt tests. It was up to me and my two older brothers to run his studio. I was only 13 when he put me to work. At 16, my older brothers went off to college and I had to run it by myself. After school, I’d rush to the studio, teach classes, and do my homework when I had any free time. After closing up, I’d get home at 11 pm, have dinner, and finish the rest of my homework. Despite this, I still had good grades. When the teenagers I teach today complain about all the school work they have, I have to laugh. I wish when I was their age all I had to worry about was homework.
Having reached my full height at 13 years old, I told students I was really 18. Back then, the martial arts was all about who was the toughest and the best fighter. People came in to learn how to fight, not stay in shape. The only way these people would take me seriously as an instructor was if they thought I was older than I really was. It’s one thing to tell people you’re 18 when you’re only 13, but it’s another thing altogether to act like you are. Before taking over the responsibility of running my father’s school, I was a typical teenager. Every other word that came out of my mouth was a four-letter word. But when I had people looking up to me as a role model and really respecting me—even people who were old enough to be my parents—I realized that I had to behave a certain way. Even the top instructors under me never knew I was only a few years older than them.
I have to admit; I was not happy at this point in my life. Miserable would be the right word. Believe it or not, I actually hated teaching Taekwondo then. I hated that I had no choice about whether or not I wanted to run my father’s school. At 18, when I decided to go to college and pursue my own goals, I looked at every option other than Taekwondo. I never wanted to teach it again or run a school. The main reason for that was my father.
When Michael Jackson died, I realized I had a lot in common with him. I learned he hated his father because his father took away his childhood and forced him to work. Not only that, he was physically and emotionally abusive. The only difference between his father and mine is that my father didn’t physically abuse any of us. And thank goodness! The man was capable of killing someone with a single punch or kick. In Korea, he was the head instructor of the Korean Military Intelligence Agency and the commanding instructor for the entire Korean army. Part of his job was interrogating North Korean prisoners of war. He used to routinely terrify grown men! Having worked for the Korean Military Intelligence Agency, he knew how to scare people and get in their heads.
People that know him have nothing but praise for him. To them, not only was he a great Taekwondo instructor, but also a great person. He would go out of his way to help people. What these people didn’t see is the side of him when he drank. My father was an alcoholic. He drank every night and every time he got drunk, he turned into a completely different person. I saw, from a very young age, the destructive power of alcohol. Every night, from dinner until 4 am in the morning, my parents would fight. That sounds like an exaggeration but it was the truth. I can’t remember even one single time they didn’t fight all night. I remember telling my mom to divorce my father. I told her this man was no good for her. Can you imagine that, a son telling his mom to get a divorce?
When he got drunk every night, I could see the fury in his eyes. The smallest things set him off. If the dinner wasn’t to his liking, he’d go into a rage. Like I said, he never physically abused us, but the fear of being physically abused was always present. And let me tell you, when he stared at you with his angry eyes, I don’t care how tough you are, it was scary! I’d stay up all night to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone. He’d go to sleep around 4 am and only when I knew he was asleep did I feel safe enough to go to sleep.
Later on, I started dating the woman who would become my wife. She was the only person I could talk to about my father, but she was a student at the school and only saw the sober, instructor side of my father. She came over one night and witnessed firsthand what I had to deal with every night. I was sitting on the couch with her when my father went into another rage—he was seething with anger. I whispered to Cristina to not make a noise and just sit there as quietly as she could. She looked terrified. I could see she was doing everything she could to not upset him, she didn’t even want to make eye contact with him. As soon as my father fell asleep, she ran out the door and told me she never wanted to come back.
My parents later separated and my mother and second oldest brother moved out West to Seattle. My oldest brother was away at college. I was the only one patient enough to stay with my father. Every morning, when he was sober, he acted like nothing had happened. It was just like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Living with someone like that took a toll on me physically, emotionally, and mentally. And eventually even my patience wore out. I couldn’t afford a place on my own, so I moved in with Cristina’s family until I was able to get my own place.
It was tough enough dealing with my father when he was drunk, but it was no picnic to live with him when he was sober, either. All I wanted was what every kid wants—to feel loved and secure, to know that your father supports you and cares for you. I never had that from him, nor did any of my brothers. We never even had one word of encouragement or guidance from him. It wasn’t like he was incapable of showing warmth and love. To his friends and colleagues, he was amazingly kind. He treated them better than he did his own family.
Most parents will break their backs working so they can give their kids the life they never had. It was the reverse scenario with me. My parents made me work like a dog so they could live the life they wanted to live. During high school, I had to have early dismissal every day just so I could get to the Taekwondo school on time to teach. My older brothers left as soon as they had the chance, and never came back. I can’t blame them for that, I think I would’ve done the same if I had the chance. I was the youngest and only one left, so I had the burden of running the school by myself. My parents used to be gone for days at a time, often on vacation or business, and when they came back, my father would go to the school just to see if it made any money. And if it didn’t make enough, he’d get angry. I remember often thinking, “I’m only a teenager and running this big school by myself—what do you expect?!” Imagine how you would feel if your boss made you run a business by yourself and only came into work when it was time to collect the money.
Because my parents were never around, I learned quickly that the only person I could depend on was myself. No matter what happened, I realized the only person that would be there for me, was me. I couldn’t depend on my parents, and so it was up to me to run the business, go to school, cook my meals. This is something I still carry with me to this day. I’ve never once had a personal trainer. When I exercise, the one thing that gets me through a workout is my will power. If I’m lifting weights, I don’t even like having someone spot me. I want to push through that last set using sheer will power. Growing up the way I did made me very independent and self-reliant.
Looking back, I can understand why my father was so unaffectionate with me and my brothers. His father died when he was nine years old and growing up in Korea during times of war was tough. My childhood didn’t feel any different from his. I felt like I grew up without a father. I can still remember my childhood in Korea. Because of the Korean War,