Meditations on Violence

It’s in the news every week and nearly every day. A man gets shot by the police. A suicide bomber blows up at the gate of a FOB, or in a village, or is stopped on a train. Someone drives their truck into a crowd. A cop is shot with his own gun. A man is arrested for armed robbery, or assault, or who knows what else.

I’m told that when I was in grade school I was a terror that kept getting into fights and trouble; this at a small, relatively upper-class catholic school. I remember the talks I had with mom and dad, and with the principal, but not the violent incidents themselves. I do remember fighting with this fat kid when I was in public middle school; unfortunately I was scrawny and didn’t do much to him. Again, the lesson learned was to not put up a fight, cause that gets you into trouble, and I have this thing with pleasing authority figures…

When I was 14, I took tae-kwon-do “classes” at a franchise mcdojo. I learned different stances and how to kick. Sort of. I remember being frustrated that the sparring was so light and… well I couldn’t articulate it at the time, but I wanted harder. I wanted to hurt, and get hurt, I wanted to test myself. I basically paid money for a black belt, haven’t done any of it in years, now.

When I tried joining the army, and was in basic training, after I was held back and was waiting for the next training company to arrive, me and the others deemed not fit for graduation just yet were held in a different company building in the battalion. I think there was about a dozen and a half of us. There was a pfc Sergant, whom I disliked. Not him, but there was some other guy I feuded with, I forget his name, we wound up in a boxing match in the showers with everyone watching. We basically punched at eachother until we both sported enough bruises to call it even. We liked eachother a little bit more after that. Shame I can’t remember his name.

Violence is a part of our world, our lives, and it’s not going away, there is no “better nature” to appeal to when you’re face to face with a screaming drunk, or someone who likes to hurt you just for fun, or someone who has contempt for you and everything you stand for. I fear for Europe, things don’t look too pretty over there, millions of islamic barbarians who have no intention of assimilating or following the rules. Not good. America has it’s problems too, but thankfully I live in an area where I don’t have to deal with any unless I go to the wrong part of town.

But I remember the huge, drunk native at the drunk tank I used to work at, screaming at everyone and then napping in the middle of the hallway. The 5’0, 50 odd-year old nurse kept asking him to move and every time she did he would scream some more. I felt helpless, knowing that words were useless and if I was any sort of man I would do what needed to be done and just fucking move him, but I was a foot and a half shorter and a hundred pounds lighter and didn’t know shit, no we had to wait for the cops to show up three hours later. I remember that same nurse telling me the reason she limped was another drunk broke her bones a year ago.

Why should I be polite to a man who wants to hurt for fun.

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