By Jackie Chan

Jackie Chan is a Hong Kong filmmaker and entrepreneur.

It’s a terrible thing for a father to publicly chide his firstborn, the apple of his eye. But, given recent revelations about my son Jaycee, I simply can’t remain silent. So I’m just going to say it.

Jaycee, your terrible acting and singing has sullied the good name of Chan.

God, that hurts to say. But I can’t shield him from reality anymore. I’ve looked the other way too many times, and I suppose now we’re all paying the price. I can’t blame the authorities for pointing out what we all knew all along. My son is a talentless, fame-hungry troglodyte who has no right to any sort of exposure.

Now the writing’s on the wall.

My son’s feeble attempts to coast into stardom simply by his descent from the most recognizable and gifted Chinese actor, singer and martial artist in history have brought shame upon my entire household.

Jaycee, you can’t just gurn your way through an indifferent rom-com and expect to get away with it. Sooner or later you will get caught and exposed for what you are—a substandard, Z-list hack who wouldn’t know how to create a character in World of Warcraft, never mind a feature film.

You might have thought that, because you were on the mainland, your appalling body of work would go unnoticed.

“My son’s feeble attempts to coast into stardom have brought shame upon my entire household.”

“Everyone there is in shitty films and recording artistically bankrupt self-titled albums,” you might have said to yourself. “Nobody will care if I join in.”

Well, they do care, Jaycee. And you’ve only got yourself to thank.

Of course, I partly blame myself. Sons emulate their fathers and I was reckless in my youth—appearing in low-rent, kung fu schlock just for the high.

But I grew up. I learned what being a day-player costs you in terms of integrity. My talent was learned, crafted, studied, and eventually my performances got clean. Nowadays, my acting and singing is sober. And I’ve never looked back.

Kids these days don’t know what hard work is—they go from kindergarten to the skate park to movie and TV studios without ever once stopping to think of the consequences of having no discernible gifts or artistic ability. Even a big-nosed, bog-eyed Basset Hound of a teenager can, by dint of having a famous parent, waltz up to the producers of Love Speaks and ask to play the lead.

But just because these crappy roles are doled out like candy at swanky parties, doesn’t mean you should reach out and take them.

Sure, we’ve all been tempted to record a vapid commercial single once in a while. On numerous occasions, a shifty guy in a trench coat and aviators has offered me a grimy, “no strings attached” sponsorship deal for an inferior consumer product.

You know what I say? “No, thanks.”

That’s all it takes, son. When you’re so obviously talentless, you can’t believe people who tell you you’ve got what it takes to make it in the entertainment industry. Stop and think for a moment: “Can I really handle this?”

No, son, you probably can’t.

In future, Jaycee, when someone comes to you with a nondescript brown package containing a TV script, an album concept or any low-rent commercial opportunity, use your brain and “Just Say No.”