The Bastard

The Bastard. That is what I have been calling the jackass that robbed us last week. In truth there were three people that participated, two women and one man. Oh, don’t let me forget the baby that they dragged along to use as camoflauge for their ill-intentions, the place that they hid their loot. The loot that I worked hours upon hours for.

For the most part I have been successful in not thinking too much about this, but it creeps in to my thoughts because of any number of things. The time, effort and money that I lost because they felt entitled to helping themselves to something that doesn’t belong to them.

Today my son asked me about it again and I was reminded again that they robbed him of some innocence and that is part of what fuels the fire. I think in very graphic terms. My thoughts have always resembled a movie. If you got inside my head you would see moving pictures, incredible sound and some amazing stunts. I’d have my 20 year-old body and my 36 year-old mind and life experience.

You know it is funny how life experience and maturity temper your response. At 20 I could still benchpress more than 300 pounds. I could curl 150 and I could run for miles without being winded. At 20 I would have jumped on top of this guy and begun pounding him. I would have used all of my strength to force him to comply with my wishes to return our property and for good measure I would have tried to replace the location of his head and ass.

At 36 I was smart enough to look and listen. I had the sense to consider the potential outcomes and not rely upon brute strength and dumb luck to get me through the day. My neighbor asked me today what I would have done if I had made it inside the elevator in time to see them explore purse.

I am not totally sure, it is one of those situations in which it is easy to play armchair quarterback. But I am willing to admit that had I been inside there, I would have been willing to use force to reacquire my property. And it shames me a little to admit this, the women would have been at risk, the same risk as the male. Had I needed to use force I would have, or so I think.

The nice thing about this blog is that I can vent, I can blow off steam in a safe environment. The last time I hit a girl was around 30 years ago, maybe a little bit more. I hit my middle sister and faced the wrath of my father who explained to me that I was never allowed to hit women or my sister. And then he followed it up with an explanation of why I was to protect my sisters.

And that is the modern beginning of a protective streak, what some would call an overprotective streak. And it is part of why even though I feel comfortable in my actions of last week, there is still a small piece that feels like I didn’t make the grade.

I’ll be back at that Target again. And every time I go back I will search the aisles and shelves for signs of the three bastards. If they have any brains they will never return there, but if they do I will recognize them and this time around there may be a different story. I don’t mean that to be a threat of physical violence. Nah, as much as I would like to hit them in the mouth, I would like even more to watch them be arrested.

My family is safe and I am thankful. In time this will be one more story, one more piece of the tapestry of my life, but for now I’ll have to accept that my trust in people is diminished and that is rather sad.

Don’t you think.