Hi! My name is Travis, I am a 27 year old, red blooded, hormone fueled, egotistical, smart ass American male.
You throw all of these things together, and one thing would be assumed about me so quickly, quietly, and easily that it would never be brought up unless I did it. And when I brought it up, you'd act very surprised, and look at me kind of differently.
I've never been in a fight. I've never taken a swing at anyone, I've never beat anyone up, I've never had my ass kicked.
I've never seen the point in it. I don't like watching UFC fights on TV, and I don't care for watching boxing or any kind of fighting unless it's in the movies. With my size, there aren't a lot of people who would start something with me, and if someone does get antsy, I beat them verbally before it ever comes to words.
I'm a lover, not a fighter. Make love, not war. All that hippie BS. I don't buy into that, I'd just rather not fight. I'm not one of those guys that says, "Oh, I don't fight because I'm scared of what I'll do, also I have a 15 inch penis." I hate those guys. I don't fight because I don't like confrontation. You want to fight? Let's play Scrabble.
As some of you know, I'm taking the Tae Kwon Do. As some of you might figure out, taking a martial arts class eventually involves...sparring.
That happened last night.
I was given some headgear and some hand pads, and I was tossed into the ring for 2 minutes.
Rocky. A 50+ male who has trouble standing up straight and who can't walk real well.
Yeah, he was the only one in my "weight class."
The bell rang, and I went out and waited on him, bound and determined that I wasn't going to hit him first unless he hit me. Them's the rules of the street, people. Thug life and what not. We just sort of danced around each other, then he came in with it. Only, I thought he came in with it. Turns out, he was just kind of stumbling forward a little bit, and is fist kind of moved towards me.
So I punched his fist and then popped him one on the earhole.
I don't think Rocky ever really recovered from that, but he finally came after me. The whole time, the instructor is yelling, "TURN LOOSE THAT RIGHT ARM, ROCKY!" If he ever turned it loose, I don't remember. All I know is that at the end of 2 minutes, I was exhausted, and I'm pretty sure I had won.
If I had any doubts about winning, the CPR they had to do on Rocky cleared them up somewhat, then the EMS workers that tried to revive him removed them completely.
I'm kidding. I didn't kill the guy.
We got out of the ring, I sat down, and I realized that maybe I didn't want to do Tae Kwon Do anymore. I just don't like the fighting. When I got dressed to leave, one of the assistant instructors said, "You have amazing control with your hands."
"It comes from many years of chronic masturbation."
I didn't say that...
But seriously, what should I do? Will the dislike of fighting eventually fall by the wayside? Or will I feel bad about hitting someone every single time I get in the ring? I don't want to throw money away every month if I'm not going to eventually learn how to hit someone without feeling bad. And how bad am I going to feel when I get my ass kicked? I'm pretty sure there's no crying in Tae Kwon Do.
And so I'm at an impasse, the proverbial "fight or flight." I have to make a decision, and I have no idea what I'm going to do.
Friday, August 13, 2010
It Finally Happened.
I'm a husband, father, son, brother, and friend. I teach English and Literature to the youth of today. I love Jesus and my mother, and I'll gladly introduce you to both. I love photography and writing. Duke basketball keeps me occupied for half the year, and hating Chapel Hill keeps me busy the other half. As you can tell from the title of my blog, I like stories. I'm a big guy with a big voice, trying desperately to be heard by someone before The Lord takes me home. Let's be best friends.