The Genetic Code of Budo: The Third and Fourth Generation

By Hanshi C. Michial Jones, 8th Dan

My journey along the road of Budo began long before the cries of my own children echoed in the world. I was a teacher before I was a father, and I opened my first independent dojo just eight months after the twins were born. In those early days, the drive was entirely personal—it was about testing my own limits, surviving my father’s extremes, and conquering the ring.

But somewhere along the line, a shift occurs. You look at your children, and the preservation of the lineage replaces the desire for personal glory.

The Immersion Era

From the moment Curtis, Alecsander, and Nicholas entered the world, they breathed the air of the mat. Before they could even crawl, I would gently move their small limbs through the trajectories of blocks, strikes, and kicks, mapping the neural pathways of Goju-Ryu into their bodies.

• As toddlers, our play was a laboratory of grappling and jujutsu.
• By 1997, while they were in pre-school, I was introducing the art to their peers at the Head Start program.
• At four years old, their formal training began.

They grew up across a shifting landscape of dojos—from the massive bays of the Okinawan Martial Arts Institute in Carmel to the rural mats of the Swayzee Dojo, the Okinawan Martial Arts Center, and finally the Yushikan. They were raised around my Komakai brothers, conditioned by visiting Okinawan masters, and pushed by American pioneers. I held them to an uncompromising standard. I didn’t repeat the severe extremes my father inflicted on me, but I pushed them hard. The result was undeniable: they were fast, precise, and exceptional at both kata and kumite. They were the third generation. I was grooming them to take my place.

The Divergence of the Path

For a long time, they were the fixtures of the dojo, transitioning into young adults who helped me anchor the floor in Marion and Swayzee. But life, as it always does, began to dictate its own terms.

• Nicholas: At eighteen, Nick chose a different path, stepping away from the mat entirely. He possessed a natural, fluid athletic ability that would have dominated sports karate, but his destiny lay elsewhere. Today, he walks the tiers as a corrections officer in one of the most violent, maximum-security prisons in the state—a job that demands the psychological armor and survival mindset he absorbed on our mats.
• Alecsander: As adulthood took hold, the reality of a second-shift career and the beautiful, consuming responsibilities of a young family pulled him from the dojo floor. Yet, his life is still dedicated to conflict resolution and discipline; he spends his days working as a youth counselor, guiding troubled kids through their own internal storms.
• Curtis: Curtis followed my exact footsteps into law enforcement. As his career progressed into a supervisory role, his schedule became a relentless jigsaw puzzle of shifts and travel. Like me, he found himself analyzing the martial arts through the lens of a police officer, which ultimately led him to shift his primary focus to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ) for law enforcement defensive tactics.

The Evolution of the Flame

There is a distinct sadness that comes with realizing the Yushikan, as a physical building or a specific banner, may one day cease to exist. Every Sensei dreams of handing the keys of their lifelong fortress to their children. But true Budo is about adaptation, not rigidity.

Curtis is now a department supervisor running defensive tactics. He still honors the roots by attending our yearly Gasshuku, but his personal mat is different now. More importantly, the lineage has successfully breached the next boundary: the fourth generation is on the mat. Curtis’s daughter is now training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and she isn’t just participating—she is excelling.

Conclusion: The Unbroken Thread

Over sixty years ago, my father stepped onto a mat and changed the trajectory of the Jones family name forever. I took his raw, brutal foundation, polished it against the greatest masters of the modern era, and passed it to my sons.

The legacy didn’t look like three men standing in traditional gi under the Yushikan sign. Instead, it looks like a prison guard surviving a shift on a volatile cell block. It looks like a counselor healing fractured kids. It looks like a police supervisor redesigning defensive tactics to keep officers alive. And it looks like a young girl executing a perfect joint-lock on a BJJ mat.

The style has evolved. The banners have changed. But the intent—the absolute resilience, the structural control, and the fighting spirit of the Jones family—remains completely unbroken. I am content. The legacy isn’t dead; it’s just doing what it has always done: surviving.