Monday's scribbling NYT post

from: http://cavett.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/08/29/cavett-dodges-the-chair/index.html?ref=opinion

• 100.
  September 1st,
  2008
  3:15 pm

  Mr. Cavett,

  Yesterday morn’, with windows open, soft breeze blowing, birds a-twittering and with fresh coffee in hand, I read your piece.

  The personal memories it evoked surprised me. Long repressed,or, buried via the natural course of time I know not why- many surfaced with a vividness that disturbed. I slept on the story last night… but now, for reasons I cannot codify, I feel compelled to write.

  I too had a similar experience. The son of a school principal in a small northern mining town, my early years were fraught with schoolyard conflicts.

  It was the tail-end of an era when one, even a nine year old, was expected to ‘be a man’. Hard lessons for child - backing down was frowned upon. Take your lumps and get up was the message. Whining and complaining about one’s lot in life was deemed poor form. Use your words my parents used to say: “We can’t be everywhere all the time.”

  I soon found, taking beatings from kids four years my senior disenchanted with my father’s stern and frequent dispensation of pedagogical discipline was a fact of life. Whenever the chance arose, such bullies would routinely corner me and proceed to pound the snot out of my little frame.

  “Tough it out son”, my Dad used to say, “I can’t punish them at school for things that happen off the property.” A caring, but preoccupied man, my father failed to realize the scope of the problem. But when, in Grade 4, I suddenly developed an intense desire to learn Boxing, Judo, Aikido he was very supportive. By Grade 6, I had not only ‘toughened-up’ but was proficient. That was the year we moved.

  Two year’s later I went back for a one week visit to my home town on Easter Break. I stayed with my best friend and his family. One evening, after dusk, we were walking through our old haunts when we were suddenly confronted by three of my erstwhile tormentors - now high-school seniors. Never one’s to pass up an opportunity to beat me and delighted at having the opportunity to do so again they made their intentions clear. Fueled by liquor and testosterone, after a brief chase, they cornered us.

  Danny, the biggest, most verbose, and callous of the three was delighted at prospect of being able to renew our one sided relationship.

  Knowing we could not best all three, I made a decision to take Danny on directly. Unsure if I would prevail, I knew it was our best chance. In short order, it turned out my training was paying dividends. Despite taking a few ’shots to the head’ I kept my wits about me. In time I gained the upper hand. In the end, Danny, now with two broken fingers and a busted nose, lay prostrate - the victim of a hold similar to the one you alluded to. His amigos backed off. My friend and I, relatively unscathed, were full of 13 year old bravado. Two days later I flew home.

  Unfortunately, the incident had the effect of instilling in me a confidence that never again (never again) would I have to back down from any man. And I didn’t. Although I never looked for fights, I didn’t avoid them either. Using ‘my words’ went by the wayside. For the next fifteen years I never backed down. Even being stabbed didn’t dissuade me.

  By 20, I was employed in a ‘Nightlife’ industry that invited conflict. One night, my misplaced belief in the ‘give-no-quarter’ credo of conflict resolution was taxed when I took things too far. Confronted by a ‘Danny-type’ bully intent on asserting his will, I acted, rather than reacted. The problem was, I knew before I acted that he was all bluster and little else. In my heart I knew he presented no ‘real or present danger’ to either myself, my co-workers or our clients. Nevertheless, my fists and feet did their norm and, using ‘the’ choke-hold, I almost killed the man. Words might have diffused the situation, but I chose to ignore a verbal solution. At the end, he was rushed to emergency, forever damaged, and I was shaken.

  Two days later, despite my manager patting me on the back for a ‘good job’ - I remained chilled by the thought I had become the very type I had trained so hard to defend against. I quit my job.

  Now, nearing 50, it has been almost a quarter century since I have raised my hands against another man. Yet, today, my four children are on the precipice of adulthood. Occasionally the boys glance at my scars and ask about my youth. The only answer I have ever been able to offer is let no man bully you — but balance your response to the threat at hand.

  Although I have taken the time to instruct my children in self-defense; I decided long ago not to teach my boys ‘that’ particular choke-hold. Oddly, I did teach it to the two older girls?

  Hopefully, I have been successful in teaching my boys all the skills needed (including the verbal ones) so that it will be a mute point that they don’t know the ‘choke’. May time prove my case. May my sons stay safe, stay not proud but reasoned; and may they need never know the trick that, in a virtual micro-second, can deprive another of his life.

  There, it is all said and done, hopefully I can sleep tonight confident that I have taught my boys enough that it is better to be the kind of man who can reason rather than ‘toughen-up’ no matter what the price.

  — Posted by BeerBellyBuddah