Play for blood, remember?

There is a lot of junk news out there. And let me be clear, I don’t mean purported “fake news”. I mean- easy to digest, high calorie, low value, fills you up, but still leaves you thirsty-news.

So when a news story catches my eye, it really tends to hold my attention. This very thing occurred when I saw the story of the trio of Portland men that stood up to a man spouting insults to a pair of young women on a train.

It resonated with me for several reasons.

One; because two of the men lost their lives. The tragedy of being a hero, is sometimes you die as one. To Taliesin Myrddin Namkai Meche, and Ricky John Best, I did not know either of you, but I wish peace to you and your families.

Two; I fear this incident, as well as the slayings and injuries that came as a result of it, will discourage people to stand up for others. I pray that it only emboldens people to further rally behind those that do, to make sure that the odds are firmly against the antagonist. To that end, Micah David-Cole Fletcher, I hope that this event does nothing to dissuade you from standing up to the bullies, the bad guys and the blatantly cruel in the future.

Three; I do this kind of thing all the time. It is sobering to see that two men who were on the side of right, paid for that honor with their last breath. You see to me, the greatest honor one can have is to give their life for another. I am not one of those morbid fools that is obsessed with death or dying, but if I have to go out, I’d prefer it be for a worthwhile cause.

Which brings me to my last point...

Four; to anyone that dare utters that these three men acted for nothing, that what they risked, and what two of them ultimately died for was not worth it...I would retort with the firm belief that doing and dying for what’s right is the only thing worth living for.

In closing, I would urge people that when acting in any of these situations always understand that while you may think you are interjecting in a harmless exchange of words, know that things can escalate quickly and turn to violence in a heartbeat. It is not a game, but there is always the potential that you will be playing for blood.

I myself am not an expert in dealing with unstable personalities, or deescalating tense exchanges, so I will not attempt to tell anyone how to handle a similar situation. However, the articles I will leave below do have some useful information. Stand up for others, but be safe doing it.

What should you do if you witness a racist or Islamophobic tirade?

Dealing with Difficult People: 10 Tips for Defusing Toxic Situations

Bully Part 2 of 2

           

            If you missed part one CLICK HERE

            “No can do man, early dismissal.” Phil held up a small paper. The time 2 P.M. scrawled on it, followed by his mother’s signature. “Early dismissal, dentist appointment.”

            “Oh ya,” I mumbled as I walked away, “Good luck, hoping for no cavities buddy.”

            Phillip’s words of comfort didn’t last long. By 5^th period I had fallen victim to that nervous (and particularly rank) sweat you only give off under severe stress. It slathered my armpits, back and brow.

            As 6^th period arrived, my heart raced, seemingly around my stomach, which was doing loop de loops as if I were on a roller coaster. I didn’t know what was worse, that I still had nearly two hours until my demise or that I would have to tolerate this torture until that time finally came.

            The final fifteen minutes of 7^th period was: Hell. On. Earth. At one point I was certain the hands on the clock were lurching forward, then backwards, then laughing at me as though the mechanisms were snickering instead of ticking.

            As the bell rang, I sighed heavily. Hearing the funeral dirge in my head, I gathered up my books, throwing them into my bag and went to meet my maker. 

            Slowly, I made my way outside to the back lot of the school. All around me excited children that would get to see tomorrow’s sun rise were elated to be done with another day. Inside I was pleading with myself: Find the biggest kid you can, pay him, do his homework, something!

            Despite halfheartedly searching for a savior, I had watched enough episodes of The Wonder Years to know that this was one of those things I was supposed to do on my own.

            By 3:18 I was in the prearranged spot.

            Seconds ticked by like hours. I was astounded to notice that the fear had left me, I had even stopped sweating. I looked at my camo-colored digital watch; 3:20 gave way to 3:25. Before I knew it 3:30 had arrived.

            Maybe Phil was right, Brad had balked after all!

            “Alright dickless you ready for yer ass whoopin’?”

            I turned to see Brad approaching. The bus kids were still shuffling past me in droves. Apparently, I was so unpopular no one even wanted to see me get my ass kicked. 

            Then he was there, right there in front of me. Somehow, he seemed even bigger than he had that morning. I planted my feet and stared at him, “Ya, let’s get this over with.” My voice lacked any tone that would indicate I thought I might win but I raised my fists anyhow.

            “Okay bitch,” That was the only warning I’d get. Brad reeled back and tried to muster his first punch.

            I always say; It’s better to be lucky than good (© 2017 DAVID IWRITESTUFF All Rights Reserved).

            I feigned with my right shoulder, Brad instinctually dodged, moving to his right. Then I heaved my left arm forward as hard as I could. Fist and teeth clenched, I threw that punch with everything I had, and things I didn’t even know I had. Every bit of my weight, every tear I had cried, every name I had been called was behind that left hand. And you can bet, every bully that had ever picked on me, hell every bully that had ever picked on anybody, was in front of it.

            All of it hit Brad squarely in the right temple.

            He stood there for a moment, unmoving, his eyes not registering what had happened, as though the very thoughts had been knocked from his head. 

            Then slowly the lights came back on in his eyes. Somebody was home again. Brad looked at me and saw a little fat kid standing there ready to throw another punch. I looked at him and saw something akin to a deflated balloon.

            Without speaking, Brad nodded, began to whimper, and slunk backwards, inserting himself into the crowd of kids that flowed nearby. The last glimpse I got was him cradling his head in his right arm.

            I looked around and waited for the cheers and adulation from my peers. There was none. No one cared about me vanquishing my foe. No one cared that some unknown nerd had beaten back the typical schoolyard bully.

            It didn’t matter because I didn’t do it for recognition. I didn’t even do it for them. I did it for myself and it felt remarkable.