Over-the-top fighting scenes.
Hilarious movie covers with the main character doing a bad-ass fighting pose or a flying kick of death.
Bruce Lee flexing every single muscle fiber in his body.
That white-bearded-villain Kung Fu Master who pretty much kills everyone.
Yeah, Kung Fu movies are awesome. Only because they remind me of the good old times with Dad.
On the weekends, going to Blockbuster or the hole-in-the-wall bootleg video rental store was kind of a father-and-son tradition back in the days. I could say that the Martial Arts aisle was our spot. The place where we shared tons of funny conversations, laughs, and bonding moments.
“Did we watch this one?” Dad asked while showing me the VHS cover of an imposter who pretended to be Bruce Lee.
“I think so,” I replied. “But why is it spelled Bruce Li?”
“Eh, I don’t know. Lets watch it again,” Dad said while stacking it up on the third or fourth movie we would eventually rent and watch back to back.
I remember the guy from Fiver Fingers of Death, Jackie Chan in Drunken Master, Jet Li in Shaolin Temple, and countless of other Shaolin Monks and Animal Style Kung Fu movies. It was never a boring movie night with Dad.
I miss it. I miss watching it with him. I make it sound like he’s gone. He’s still alive and lives three blocks away from me. It’s just that adult life, you know, makes you grow up. But that’s an excuse isn’t it? It’s more like – it makes you grow apart.
When my wife is not around (she hates watching foreign films), I browse through Netflix to see if I can catch a good old Kung Fu classic. When I pick one, I would often ask myself “Did Dad watch this one?” Sure enough, because we share a Netflix account, the viewing–history shows that indeed he did. Goes to show you Dad is still Dad.
I want to catch a good flick with the old man again. I need to.
This post has been re-edited because the original sucked. It’s also on Medium.