That’s him with the long hair in the middle left of the photograph.
He’d started training like an obsessed man (a family trait) at age 19, and by the time I was 2 or 3 years old and he was 24-25 he was a third dan and teaching. This was not a normal trajectory, but a rather accelerated one that the traditional Japanese teachers of his dojo in the early 1970s allowed only for men that had a natural aptitude or talent and uncommon dedication.
When I went to visit his old teacher in my early 20s, I took a taxi to get there, and, as Italian taxi drivers are want to do, had started a conversation about why I was going to this well-known dojo in Turin. I explained about my dad having trained and taught there some 20 years earlier but having since moved to Africa. The taxi driver exclaimed: “Africa? But wait… is your name Filotto?”
When I said yes, this guy, who had never set foot in a karate dojo in his life, began to tell me how he definitely recalled the stories about this Filotto guy, who had achieved a kind of quasi-myth status by then.
My father is definitely an interesting guy, who has had a life so adventurous and weird that if they made a film of it, most would think it was an exaggeration. In reality, the film would likely have to have some true scenes omitted, because they would seem too absurd for real life. But, as anyone that has actually lived life, truth, is invariably stranger than fiction.
If you want an excellent read that is hilarious, interesting and true (and yes there are some things he left a little bit out of the story either for decency, legality or incredulity of readers, but that I know all too well), you can find his most excellent book about his life, here.
My Dad
That’s him with the long hair in the middle left of the photograph.
He’d started training like an obsessed man (a family trait) at age 19, and by the time I was 2 or 3 years old and he was 24-25 he was a third dan and teaching. This was not a normal trajectory, but a rather accelerated one that the traditional Japanese teachers of his dojo in the early 1970s allowed only for men that had a natural aptitude or talent and uncommon dedication.
When I went to visit his old teacher in my early 20s, I took a taxi to get there, and, as Italian taxi drivers are want to do, had started a conversation about why I was going to this well-known dojo in Turin. I explained about my dad having trained and taught there some 20 years earlier but having since moved to Africa. The taxi driver exclaimed: “Africa? But wait… is your name Filotto?”
When I said yes, this guy, who had never set foot in a karate dojo in his life, began to tell me how he definitely recalled the stories about this Filotto guy, who had achieved a kind of quasi-myth status by then.
My father is definitely an interesting guy, who has had a life so adventurous and weird that if they made a film of it, most would think it was an exaggeration. In reality, the film would likely have to have some true scenes omitted, because they would seem too absurd for real life. But, as anyone that has actually lived life, truth, is invariably stranger than fiction.
If you want an excellent read that is hilarious, interesting and true (and yes there are some things he left a little bit out of the story either for decency, legality or incredulity of readers, but that I know all too well), you can find his most excellent book about his life, here.
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