When I was eleven or twelve years old, I played lots of different sports: particularly baseball, basketball, swimming and diving, and rode my bike all over New York City’s Upper East Side. I also dreaded being cooped up indoors and was never a couch potato at all.
Regardless of all the athletic participation, though, I hadn’t begun any kind of growth spurt yet and frankly, not only wasn’t too tall…I was pretty dumpy and pudgy in appearance.
Then one day in Spring, I was walking my way home from school on a very quiet block: East Eighty Eight Street between Park and Lex when I heard a voice say, “Keep walking, don't turn around.” Nonetheless, although I didn't slow my pace, I turned my head and peeked over my shoulder.
What I saw there behind me was another guy, perhaps a year or two older than I, a couple of inches taller, with a nasty sneer on his face and a very tough sounding voice with which he repeated: “I told you not to turn around. And the next time you do, you’ll be very sorry you did.”
Now, I’ve got to admit, I knew a real threat when I heard one, and also that one way or another, the guy behind me was going to keep needling me until he got tired of playing around and then beat me bloody, either for my money or just for the hell of it. I also suspected that although I didn’t know him, after this situation, every time he saw me again he’d repeat the scenario, or something else like it, and I’d be a continual pigeon.
That’s when I decided to stop in my tracks, either from fear, desperation or some other realization, and do my best to defend myself, take my lumps best I could and hopefully, get to my home and find enough Band Aids for my wounds.
As soon as I stopped, the tough kid approached me, saying, “I warned you,” and shoved me hard with both hands to my chest. And that’s when in sheer panic, I shoved him back. He then threw a punch toward my head which to my shock, I ducked. And then even more surprising to myself, I shot a quick jab back that actually connected with his mouth.
In a couple of more moments, the whole encounter was over and although I’d not really been touched, the other guy was not only in very bad shape, tough-looking as he seemed, he was bleeding, whining and begging me not to clip him again. That’s when I turned around again and headed for home, extremely glad it was over.
The reason I mention this story today is, I believe it’s a tenet of life that when you’re threatened, physically or otherwise, if you back down in fear, try to appease bullies, thugs or simply nasty people, you invariably lose every time. And, worse yet, once those types have your number, they generally become more aggressive because they now know you have no spine. And even if you do, you’ve now proven that you won’t use it.
Which is why, as I sit here and type, more and more nations around the Middle East, and elsewhere, now know that our nation no longer has a backbone and would rather try to toothlessly talk than physically protect U.S. citizens and possessions in harms way.
These enemies also now know that when it comes to the core, the incumbent's forte is two different types of running. One is the kind where he makes speeches intended to help keep his office and the other is where he prefers to get away as fast as he can, because he simply doesn’t know how to fight with anything else but his harmless, repetitive, mouth.
That’s it for today folks.
Adios
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