What Would Scott Bakula Do?

When I was about 7 or 8, I got sucker-punched in the gut by an older kid at a bowling alley. I (of course) went and told my mom and she went with me to find the kid. There he was with his dad, and maybe it's all the TV I've watched between then and now, but I remember him being a fairly redneck sort of fellow. Anyway, my mom explained to the kid's dad what had happened and to the best of my recollection, the man acknowledged that it probably had happened they way I said, but so what? And that was about it. What was she going to do? Nothing to do, really, but walk away, grab your stuff and go home. I suppose she could have gotten my stepfather to do something, but he was English, so what would have been the point. (Actually, I have no recall whether or not he was there that night, but I suppose that in itself says something.)

Anyway, this is on my mind this week because of an incident at the mall on Sunday. We took our two-year-old son to play at the little fenced, padded playground they have at one of the local malls, within the cozy confines of the food court. He'd been playing there for two or three minutes, timidly finding his way around and trying stuff out at his own pace when he came up against a smaller, yet older (at least 3, probably 4) boy bent on traveling the same path our son was taking but in the opposite direction. So, the other little boy started pushing, and I jumped up to intercede. I picked him up, by then crying, and found the other boy where he'd ducked into a downed tree trunk (plastic) and told him that wasn't nice and wagged my finger or something equally pathetic. There was nothing more to do, he wasn't hurt in any way, just scared. We put his shoes back on and walked around the mall for a while. The whole thing was ancient history as far as he was concerned, if he remembered it at all.

Of course the option of me confronting a parent wasn't available to me as this kid was one of many there who'd been dropped off for some indeterminate amount of time, unsupervised. Of the probably 20-25 kids playing there, I'd estimate there were probably about 6 or 7 adults who appeared to be actively interested in what was going on -- and who knows, some of them might just like to watch kids. As we were leaving the mall some time later, however, I think I saw the child's father. This wasn't a huge guy, but he was pretty big. I'm a big guy as well, but I'm the kind of big you get from a strict workout of computer coding and carb downloading while this guy's workout was probably a little more traditional -- lifting, not gaining. So what happens if I'm put in the situation my mom was in thirty years ago? Do I ask this guy to step outside knowing I'm likely to get pounded? Do I taunt him with big words meant to confuse him? Do I walk away? Which option sets a better example? I guess if it was a movie there'd be an interlude long enough for a musical training montage where I'd pump up to the point where I'd put the doubt on his side, but in real life, I just don't know. I'd suppose I'd either regret not standing up or I'd regret my nose not looking the way it used to. Maybe I should be training now...

I guess it's my general avoidance of confrontation that's bothering me. I mean I step up when I need to... actually I'm sure that I've stepped up more than I recall, but now that I'm searching for examples I'm feeling even more limp-wristed than when I started this. I have no doubt that if physical intervention were required that I'd be right there front and center doing what needs to be done, but it's the grey area I worry about where you might not expect anything physical, but you feel you need to be ready for it -- or look like you're ready for it -- just in case. Maybe it's just confidence. I think if I could just find that kid from the bowling alley I could fix this Quantum Leap style... go back to the late 70s as an adult and find that kid and punch him in the stomach. Cue the blue lights.