Good and Bad

By Miguel Espinal

As a child, I vividly remember moving to my new house; not exactly on the better side of the tracks as they say but close to it. It wasnt an upscale neibourhood by any means but a lot different than what I was accustomed to. Growing up downtown, my family at this point was the first Latin family to move on the block and this was very special to me and filled me full of pride. Every day after school I would walk home, exploring my surroundings as I walked along my usual route to the house. On one particular sunny day walking home, I got assaulted by three young boys, one to two years older than me. They beat me up pretty good, making racist remarks about my nationality as they did. Now, mind you, I was raised catholic and at that point, bound to my religious teachings. I was raised to turn the other cheek if struck by anyone, so I just let it happen and man did it hurt. While growing up downtown with other Latin kids, it was very different. Im not saying there werent any mean kids there too but everyone looked like me and spoke my language; being very young I thought that not all kids around the world were cruel and indifferent. Needless to say I found out the hard way, unfortunately; that I was wrong and other kids were not so keen to being friendly or kind. In other words, the confusion children have of not understanding the difference between good and bad. Intrigued by my new surroundings during my first year on the block, exploring, trying to make new friends, I did have some fun times; for example, one snowy morning during a heavy winter season, I had a snow ball fight with a few kids in front of my house, you know boys being boys, what escaped me at the time was the fact that I was alone. That day I found out that being the only Latin kid on the block and they being Caucasian, three against one wasnt very fair but to me it was all in good fun. Anyway, getting back to that day I got my butt kicked. When I entered the house, first let me tell you prior to that my family would always try to advise me to keep to

myself and get home fast. My mother would say, Dont be so nosey. or Why you dont come straight home after school and stop walking around, looking for trouble? Thinking back about that day I got beat up depresses me sometimes, the knowing look on my mothers face as I entered the house all bloodied with my school clothes in shambles. The expression I saw there told me she knew a conflict was bound to happen eventually. Later that night, my father, (who wasnt around very much at the time, I might add.) found out what had happened to me and caused much strife in the house. I remember him saying, See? These talks about turning the other cheek and look what happens, he gets beat up and does nothing to stop it. He turned to me and asked, Do you like getting beat up by those boys?, No. I replied, Why didnt you fight back? he asked, I answered, There were three of them, how? Besides, I wanted to be a good boy and not be like them. Well then what are you going to do about it? was the last thing he asked, I told him I didnt know. Confused and upset, I just went upstairs and cleaned myself up that afternoon. Well the whole incident mustve struck a nerve with my father. The next weekend he took me to the movies; Ill never forget it. The movie was called The Chinese Connection starring Bruce Lee. I was amazed to see this not so tall Asian man beat the living day lights out of not just one man but two, three and even six men at a time. I tapped my father on the arm and told him, Thats what I want to do about those boys beating me up, dad. He looked down at me with a little pride in his eyes but at the same time the look on his face was as if he was about to be in a whole lot of trouble for some reason . Soon after, my father enrolled me in my first martial arts class. Once I got proficient and built up my confidence, I continued to study different styles of fighting and began to combine different philosophies of disciplines. I felt confident in my abilities and was notoriously proud of myself, enriching my self-esteem, physique and mental awareness. Martial arts also healed my painful experience of being soft and weak and afraid of conflict. After a while I was coming home not with bumps and bruises or a bloody lip, but

dropped off by the police and/or the parents of the boys that were harassing me. My mother would call my father over to explain that all this fighting stuff is starting problems for me and the family with the other parents on the block; at this my father would jokingly, but at the same time seriously, tell my mother, Isnt that just great; now that my sons defending himself, hes the trouble maker? I would explain to my mother and father that I didnt start it, to which my mother would reply, Maybe you didnt but still you shouldve tried at least to talk your way out of it. To this my father would ask, And if they dont listen, what then? Just take your beating like a good boy? Is that what you want him to do? No, I dont mean that, I just want him to be humble. My frustrated mother sternly replied. Anyway that was a part of my life that I cherish and reflect on. Ive grown older and have learned to be civil now but not after getting in heaps of trouble for fighting. You would have to agree that all life is a learning process and that violence is not the only answer to show or reason with others. What Im trying to say is that if push comes to shove, what would you have done? Some would say to talk it out and many would say to defend yourself. Well its a question for the ages isnt it? In this world of struggle and violence, if you grew up like me, it all would be conflicting questions with no right answers. Perhaps religion has a lot to do with it or maybe just the world needs to have a better outlook on the subject. Not all people are mean and yes, all these years, Ive walked through life with my head bowed with humility but at the same time with balled up fists, ready to fight for the good and self-respect that both my parents tried to instill in me. I strive to teach my own children this philosophy, be kind to others, live your lives humbly, dont resort to violence for answers, but they look at me as a hypocrite because of my past. I cant deny that getting back at those kids who beat me up wasnt satisfying in some ways, but I do have an answer to my childrens confusion when asked about my reasoning. I tell them, many of those kids way back when are very good friends with me now, I didnt fight back because I knew

how, I fought back to show that not all people will turn the other cheek when confronted. Simultaneously, I showed them what it means to be humbled, and to think cautiously before considering others as not being their equals ever again. I feel this is an epiphany. Imagine that, yours truly, trying to be humble and good natured as a kid growing up, now fighting for myself and others who cant defend themselves. Actually using force for a greater good of humility and decency. Why I wonder, would I be writing such conflicting ideals. I can tell you honestly, I dont know; Im not perfect by any means. Ive been categorized as good and bad but I try my best to keep out of trouble and yes anger has gotten the better of me at times. At least I can still say to my mother in jest yet with all seriousness, I didnt start it mom, and Im very sorry; but I did have to finish it.