Two articles have really caught my attention so far this weekend, and they both are relevant to me in some way.
First is this illustrative story from Breda.
One day last winter, I pulled on my boots, buttoned up my coat and went out into the snow to fill the birdfeeder. We kept the seed in a large bucket in the garage and when I went to scoop some out to carry to the feeder, I noticed that the supply was running low. It was dark in the garage and even darker in the bottom of the bucket. I tipped the bucket a little and was startled to hear a faint skittering noise inside. I looked in...a brown field mouse was trapped down at the bottom of the bucket! My first surprised thought was "eek!", quickly followed by "awwww, cute! mousie!" And as I squatted down next to the bucket to get a better look at my new furry friend...
...the mouse growled at me.
It was a small sound, barely audible, and if the world hadn't been so hushed and muffled under its thick blanket of snow, I might not have heard it. I went very still, holding my breath - I heard it again.
Trapped in the bucket and cornered by a large seemingly menacing creature, the tiny mouse, somehow realizing that flight was impossible, decided to fight for its life.
Think about it. A mouse that literally only weighed mere ounces was prepared to bite and claw against its adversary a thousand times its size. Breda talks about this survival mechanism and how pathetic it is that our society seems more and more willing to simply lie down and die rather than, like this mouse, fight back with every intention to live.
I may harp about guns and gun rights here, but more importantly we need, as a society, to teach our young to fight back. To teach them to stand up for themselves, to not let others trample on their rights nor their persons. Because somewhere down the line, the generation before mine has failed miserably in this regard and has started teaching the youth to simply offer their necks to the goblins of the world.
And the goblins are getting the message loud and clear.
Through church and over the next few days I was perplexed. Why would a man of my stature, a fit six foot one, be chosen as prey by two criminals? I could not understand it. Those kind of things happened to the elderly, women, the weak. They did not happen to big guys with crew cuts and broken noses. Hell, most of the time, all it took was a cold professional stare to change the direction of young men. Was my world changing? Was I getting older? Did it show? Or were the cretins becoming bolder? I was dumbfounded. I did not know why I was singled out as prey, and it bothered me.
Xavier tells us of a time he was targeted by thugs. While I've only seen a few snapshots of Xavier, I can tell you by that and his writing that he's not a small man.
What I think is that the thugs are simply well aware that the vast majority of the populace are not even mice, that they would gladly throw them their wallets, their goods, and their selves rather than fight back.
I'm glad I read Xavier's story. Sometimes I feel silly carrying a pistol. Hell, I'm a 6'3", 210'ish pounds, former Marine. I'm not muscular by any stretch of the imagination, but my height adds to my imposition. I never walk and look at the ground, I always make eye contact, and I carry myself in a manner that suggests I'm not someone who can easily be taken by surprise. You'd think, like Xavier, that criminals would pick on someone they think they'd stand a better chance at being able to overpower.
But nobody every accused the criminal element of our society to be smart.
I hope I never again have to defend my life. The gun doesn't give me magical powers that render my invulnerable nor does it provide me any guarantee I'll be victorious, it simply increases my odds. But those odds are less than 0 if I have no will to fight back to begin with.
Our children should be given a chance. I know mine will.
rolled out on
Saturday, March 01, 2008 4:50 PM