Way back, he had told me that when I was ready, he would teach me the Italian language. Hesitantly, I walked up to his place.
“Mister Miyagi,” I called. “Good news! I’m going to Italy!”
“Then let our training begin,” he smiled. “Take this rag and follow me.”
“What does a rag have to do with…”
“SILENCE!” Mr. Miyagi demanded. “If you want me to teach you Italian, you must do everything I tell you and obey without question.”
“Okey-dokey,” I sighed, not sure exactly what I was getting into.
“Now rub this car in tiny circles and repeat after me, ‘La cera sopra, incera fuori.’”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Wax on, wax off.”
“Hey, waitaminute…,” I frowned. “This is from…”
“What’s that mean?”
“Lemme guess,” I sighed. “After I finish washing and waxing your car, you’re gonna tell me you have a whole bunch of other cars.”
“Where are we right now, Jack?”
“At your Hyundai dealership,” I sighed.
“La cera sopra, incera fuori!” he barked.
“la cera sopra, incera fuori,” I repeated, rubbing the side of the car with the rag while rolling my eyes..
This story isn’t true, but the rest of the accounts of my two-week journey to Italy are 99.4% truthful. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view) I don’t have to make up anything else in order to make this an adventure of epic proportions.
“Man who eat minestrone soup
with chopsticks accomplish anything.”