I was just watching a TV show where a mine blew up with an
incredibly powerful explosion. Of course the hero ran towards the mine which
was still billowing smoke and raining down debris. I suspect that his initial
reaction was to see what he could do to help. I’d like to think that is exactly
what I would do in the same situation.
I hope that I am never close enough to a major explosion to
find out if I am made of the kind of stuff that TV heroes are. I probably am,
with a large dose of self preservation tossed into the mix. I’m not very
decisive either, so by the time I decide what I was going to do, those TV
heroes will have already done it.
I remember a time when I was in high school when some
friends and I were sitting on a curb just talking, laughing and generally just
hanging. A car passed by with some drunks in it and they yelled something or
other that prompted me to yell F*** YOU! There was a similar incident the
previous winter when I was in Florida .
It ended with my buddy getting punched in the face and I was knocked to the
ground. There would probably have been more of a beating if we hadn’t run like
frightened rabbits and kept running until we couldn’t run any further.
Well, fast forward seven or eight months to a street corner
in Toronto and I knew just what to
do. I told everyone to get ready to run and when I saw the brake lights come
on, I ran. I don’t think it was my fault that no one actually heard me saying
to run or that they didn’t have the sense to run when I ran. I mulled over this
as I lay hidden in the tall grass by the railway tracks. Eventually, the hero
Ken fought his way out and convinced coward Ken that they should both go back
and help their friends. This internal argument took a certain amount of time
and by the time I retraced my steps, the thugs had left and I was branded a
coward for the next forty years. Sticks and stones…
There was another time when I was on a picket line for one
of the many strikes I was a part of during my time at the Post Office. We were picketing
a warehouse that the Post Office was using as a staging area for the Scabs.
Emotions run high on both sides of the picket line, everyone thinks they are
right and the other guy is wrong. I just liked getting the chance to visit
people I hadn’t seen for a few years. Strikes were more of a social occasion
for me. I got to take some time off, get reacquainted with old friends and I
was home earlier than normal.
There was a point when someone threw a punch which caused
another person to get involved and before you knew what was happening, the
crowd of striking posties were surging forward. Well, not all of us, I was
walking backwards to get a better view of everything. Yeah, that’s it; I was
going for a clearer line of sight. The problem with backing up when everyone
else is moving forward is that they tend to carry you with them. I felt strong
hands on my shoulders and was bodily lifted up and put down clear of the
surging masses. This cop wanted to get to the action more than I wanted to get
away from it.
I got my better vantage point to watch the altercation and
aside from two slightly bruised shoulders I came out of the strike much the
same as I entered it. You know, if there ever was an explosion, I suspect that
I would be the guy who went to get coffee and donuts for the rescuers. They are
going to need some comfort food…
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