Fight

I don't want to fight, but life has on many occasions given me no choice. Oh, I haven't been in an actual, physical fight since I was a teenager.

And I don't want to stoop to believing in bad luck, per se, or taking a "born loser" attitude. I'm generally an optimist anyway.

But my life has, for probably no reason at all, put me in potentially violent situations over and over.

***

In 2006, it happened three times. Long time readers of this blog will remember:

One was when a teenager at a Blockbuster began cursing at me for a disagreement over parking spots. Another was when a homeless man began hovering around my family in a city park. And finally there was the man who snuck into the daycare one morning, scamming for money. Looking back, the first one occurred before I began training, and I flipped out on him. The second one was about six weeks into my training, and I was calm as I dialed the cops. The third one found me calm as well, telling the man face to face that he wasn't welcome, and that he needed to leave NOW. He chose to do so.

***

These kinds of things never happen to some of my friends. I think about Danny, a man of integrity whom I respect a lot. He told me the story about a schoolyard bully who wanted to fight and simply would not take no for an answer.

He finally attacked Danny, who wrestled him to the ground, sat on him and punched the dirt beside his head to make his point. He got up and left.

I don't recall that Toland's been in a fight of any sort in his life. I envy that.

***

A man started a fight with Whit a couple weeks back. It's not my business to share that story, though Whit kicks himself for the fact that, when provoked, he didn't managed to behave EXACTLY like Gandhi.

***

I don't want to resign myself to the fact that I get in situations, but it has certainly happened to me many times.

A week ago I went to get my backpack out of the car at about 10pm.

From the street, a black man in black clothes rushed me, walking so fast it was nearly a sprint. I was between the car and the lamp post in our yard.

Without thinking, I went into fight stance.

He stopped. "Whoa whoa whoa... I'm not a gangster. Look, I don't have any weapons," he said, pulling up his shirt.

He proceeded to try to scam me for money. He smelled like beer and talked too fast for me to take it all in.

I had two dollars, and chose to give them to him instead of doing anything risky there in the driveway.

Did I do the right thing? It felt like a volatile situation, and we'd already squared off (though it clearly startled each of us).

He left. I stared out the window at him, and three of his buddies pulled up in front of the house. This was getting too weird. We called the cops, but those guys were gone quickly. And if I had regrets about handing over two singles, I've gotta say I'm glad I'm not the bozo across the street who gave him $20.

***

It was the first and only time. I'm done with this. I rarely give them money anyway, but no, coming to me in my yard, in a nice neighborhood like this, well, that's unacceptable. I just wish I'd drawn that line in the sand before having to deal with the situation.

***

I don't feel like a tough guy. I feel confident. There's a difference.

I don't feel like I'm bad news on two feet, that I can take out anyone who provokes me. I don't feel like I'm some MMA stud, or that all of my training guarantees me anything. Any person in any fight has a puncher's chance to land a lucky shot no matter who he or she is facing.

But I do feel confident. Immediately after this scammer left my yard I was calm and collected. I know what it's like to be hit; taking a shot isn't going to give me an adrenaline spike that'll work against me. I know how to reasonably defend myself against many types of strikes and weapons. And I've trained and sparred enough to have some idea of timing and distance, and how to look for openings. I only need one. I do have fight-ending tools at my disposal. My aim isn't to stand there and trade blows; it's to do something that will end the fight as quickly as possible.

I dread ever facing someone with a knife. I've trained for that 1000 times, and I still think I'd be wiser to run.

If someone has a gun within reaching distance though, I like my chances just fine.

***

I don't feel boastful. I feel modest. I'm glad to have these skills, but I simply don't have the imposing attitude or physical presence to convincingly do "tough."

That said, I've come to understand that there are times to put modesty aside. If we're together in a dark parking lot or on a deserted city street after dark, I've learned that it's best to be clear: I'm alert, and if some creep emerges I will put myself between whoever I'm with and said creep.

I will do everything I can to keep you safe.

***

And in the midst of the sense of calm all of this training instills, we who train do allow ourselves maybe one exception to that. We shouldn't try to be thugs, shouldn't show off, shouldn't act like idiots, shouldn't pick fights.

But I think you could talk to even the noblest martial artist out there, and he or she'd admit that regarding someone who has physically and/or sexually harmed someone dear to us, all bets are off. That person has earned serious punishment from the likes of anyone capable of delivering it. Period.

Go ahead and cuff me, officer, and when do we go to the ER to pull that guy's teeth out of my knuckles?

***
***

I'm still decompressing after graduation. I'm way out of sorts. There's a big hole in my life where school used to be, and I'm learning how to fill it with other things. It's early yet, I know.

I'll be in Katy, Texas this weekend to see some old friends. I'll write again when I can.

Be safe.