My History Of Violence

I grew up in a violent environment. Getting punched was almost a daily ritual.

When I was young, I learned how to take a punch. You roll with it. You go where the fist is going. Hopefully, you keep your teeth. I did, because I rolled with it.

In my teens, I studied martial arts. It was the Bruce Lee era. I wanted to defend myself, and did. Got into a couple of fights and won. This did not make me feel better about myself.

When I was a kid, my stepfather beat the shit out of me. Punched me in the face, threw me down the stairs, cursed me the entire time. He was an ex-Marine. I was a skinny child. I don’t know why he hated me so much, but he did, and took whatever anger he had out on me.

Years later, he apologized for his abuse. He was genuinely sorry. I forgave him. He fell into my arms and wept. We got along just fine after that.

I say all this because some drunken asshole in a pick up truck fucked with me. He wanted to kick my ass, and whatever beyond that. I backed off. I’m much too old for this kind of thing, and curious as to why this is still going on. I suppose if I had to defend myself, I’d get a few shots in. But this kid would drill me. There’s no winning here.

I let it go. There’s a part of me that feels emasculated, that I didn’t stand up for whatever the fuck this was. And I wonder how often this happens to other people. But I did the right thing. I just wanna go back to writing about comedy, which I will. Fun stuff. Stick around.