Even after all this time, it still amazes me. This summer marks 30 years since I left my home in Long Island for Southern California to start shooting a modest-budget film, The Karate Kid. Yet rarely a day goes by when I don't encounter some type of reference to that seminal sports movie -- a catchphrase, a punch line, a re-creation of favorite Karate Kid moments.
I am married now with two kids, both older than Daniel LaRusso was when he was introduced to the world in 1984. Yet that chapter in my life remains frozen in time. I guess it doesn't help (or hurt) that I've maintained these boyish looks. I imagine if I were bald and round, it would be easier to hide this youthful character in the wrinkles of my frame. But I honestly believe that even if I won an Oscar or discovered a cure for cancer, my tombstone would still read here lies THE KARATE KID. Oops, I meant THE ORIGINAL KARATE KID. (Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.)
I can't begin to tell you the number of times I hear "Get him a body bag" or "Sweep the leg" in a given week. I can be at home putting out the garbage, and a driver passing by will roll down the window and yell, "Wax on! Wax off!" I can promise you that if I attend any type of major sporting event, it's almost a given that either Bananarama's "Cruel Summer" or Joe Esposito's "You're the Best" will start blasting over the sound system, and then -- bam! -- there I am, up on the Jumbotron.
At this point in my life I embrace it, on most occasions, though if I'm out with the family at an Asian restaurant, chopsticks firmly in hand, and I notice a fly on the wall, even 20 feet away, I know I have exactly nine seconds to get out of the building!
...
But I get it. Not only do I get it, but I've also been guilty of it myself. These former athletes must have at least the same lower-back pain I have when I get out of bed in the morning at fifty-something years old. But I don't want to think about the Joe Montana that way, or even imagine it. I don't want to see him squinting at a dinner menu. I don't want to hear about his creaking knees or the pain in his joints or whether he has to pee more than once in the middle of the night. (Sorry, folks, but it happens.) I just want to see Montana throwing the game-winning touchdown in Super Bowl XXIII. I recently learned that Craig is an accomplished motivational speaker. Maybe he has a receding, gray hair line, but all I can say is that if I ever run into him, he had better be wrapped in red, white and blue!
So I guess I share this burden with these athletes: a responsibility to uphold a moment that has stood the test of time. I understand that I am still somebody's childhood role model. People often approach me and tell me that I changed their lives. "I was bullied, and you gave me courage," they sometimes say. Or, "I was a fish out of water, and you gave me the strength to belong." I always try to respond graciously because it's an honor knowing what I represent to them. But sometimes I just can't help but say, in the most humble way possible, "Thanks, man, but really, I was just the guy who got the part."
