Diary of a Wolfeman

The World’s Best Girlfriend and I met up at the mall the other night to do a little shopping and grab a quick bite to eat in the food court. We were happily munching away when a minor altercation between a group of young black men started up in the open area in front of the theaters. It seemed like nothing at first, but I kept my eye on them just the same.

Sure enough, the minor incident escalated into a full fistfight between at least three people, and started drifting over toward us. Patrons seated nearest the scuffle jumped up and ran away. The WBG smartly moved around to keep our table between herself and the action (her back was to them originally, with no protection) but otherwise stood her ground. I stood up and stepped behind my chair when they got within 10 feet.

What none of the other patrons saw as they all ran away was that this was nothing more than greasy kid stuff. These were not hardened gang-bangers trying to kill each other, these were teenagers burning off testosterone. The blows they managed to land all hit soft targets, and even then did no real damage. The kid that got the worst of it hopped back onto his feet when it was over and was more worried about whether his pants were falling down than any potential bruises.

I’ve gotten hurt worse rough-housing with my older brothers.

What does this mean, when only two of about 15 people are brave enough to stand their ground in the face of adversity? It means I think public schools need to be teaching basic hand-to-hand, or at least situational awareness. If an invading force were to hit the beaches of America today, I wouldn’t be counting on my neighbors to help defend our block.

Okay, I could count on two of them, but that’s because I know how many swords they own. You get my point.