Language advisory in this post.
I should have been a coward. I can’t imagine why I did what I did other than testosterone and arrogance. Yeah, wolfe is occasionally arrogant. Sorry.
Here’s the story. My telling it arises out of a post on MABTW where SotS said “Fleeing from a battle you did not ask for is the epitome of cowardice.”.
I thought that statement was foolish and poorly thought out. And I respect the lad greatly. But he was a damn fool for saying what he said. (And only I’m allowed to say that; he’s a respected member of this community, so don’t give him a tough time.)
Here’s a true story.
When I was younger, I’d just come back from a camping trip. So I’d changed into “suit wolfe” garb, looking like every Wall-Street businessman (except my suit was off-the-rack), carrying my Samsonite briefcase. But I still had some of the accoutrements of the trip.
And I’m walking along a park pathway, consumed in my thoughts. Yeah. Bad situational awareness. At least it’s broad daylight.
So a bunch of tough young punks (16-21), about 6 of them, close in on me. Again. Bad situational awareness.
“Hey dude. Give us your money”.
He held a knife. 4 to 5 inches, if you want to know. Some kind of crap switchblade. Weak, as Eric Cartman would say.
“Piss off”. (I don’t normally use vulgarity but I’m certainly not going to refrain from doing so when scumbags are trying to rob me).
“Give us your money or we slice you up”
Inwardly, I chilled. Death was near and I could feel the soft silent beat of his wings.
Controlled, I said “I need to open my briefcase”.
Slowly, I did so. I reached in, and I made my choice.
My thumb flicked the leather sheath’s latch and my glorious hunting knife, brought back by (my at times too distant) Dad, from Austria, came forth, naked.
I had to pull it out of the case carefully, scraping the sheath off the blade.
I couldn’t resist.
I looked at the young punk’s 4 or 5″ blade.
“You call that a knife? Now this is a knife”
I drew on memory… I sure didn’t need to draw on courage; my veins were on fire.
“There are 6 of you. If you rush me, you will win, and get my wallet. I will kill three of you, I guarantee it. Two more will be badly wounded, and the final may escape unscathed”
I couldn’t believe time stood still long enough for me to say that. It sounded like something out of the movies. It was. I wasn’t running on my courage, I was running on society’s representation of old-school male courage. And it fucking worked for me.
“But three of you will die, I guarantee it. The rest of you will be wounded, perhaps crippled, and all for forty dollars in my wallet.”
“Do you wish that”?
And they retreated. They ran.
I was almost disappointed.
Yet had I fled from this battle? I’d not be a coward.
Hell no.
I’d have been smart. I was an idiot. If I’d been married my wife would possibly have been justified in divorcing me on this. I made an arrogant call, to engage where I could have fled.
Yet. Fleeing from a battle you did not ask for is NOT the epitome of cowardice.
I was an idiot for behaving as I did. If I’d been smart, I’d have done the ‘cowardly thing’. Doesn’t make me a coward, simply makes me a human being. A man. As it was, I as arrogant, and risked it all on a toss of the die. I won. I was ‘brave’. And damn near got myself killed.
I’m no more a man for saying “you call that a knife”? and standing up, than I’d be for fleeing. That’s that.
Note that the calculus changes totally were I with a woman. My sole goal then, would be her survival. Then my arrogance would be courageous and appropriate. Alone? It was stupid and arrogant. Foolish. But I’m a man. And that’s that.
-wolfe
Copenhagen youths stage an unannounced
