We all want to belong - it's in our genes. Mankind is a pack animal. But each of us wants to be Alpha over something, even if it's just ourselves. Whether it's a wolf pack, a baboon troupe, or a schoolyard, there's always somebody at the end of the pecking order that knows the nerve-jangling, stomach wrenching, hopelessness of having no one to take their frustration out on. Eventually that "low man on the totem pole" leaves the group in the hopes that the next group he finds will have someone even more pitiful than himself. Give an animal enough rejection, however, and they seek solitude. Life is tenacious, and a bad life is considered better than none at all. A "lone wolf" is alone from desperation, not choice. This was my beginning - the crucible that forged the spirit necessary to make the journey.

At the ripe old age of seven, I knew that life was not fair. I was the brightest boy in my class, but that just made me a target for the Neanderthals in my school who felt that anyone with an IQ over 50 was a personal insult to themselves. At home was no better. I was the youngest son of a frustrated, unhappy man who felt that anyone with intelligence was a reminder that he was a high school dropout, and that anyone smaller than him was a target to be “taught a lesson.” Although I had intelligence, I didn’t have the good sense to keep my mouth shut. This blog is proof that I never quite learned that lesson.

I grew up in a farming community, and there weren’t many kids around in my age group. I felt privileged when Ron, a slightly older boy who lived nearby, took me under his wing. What I didn’t understand then was that the boy had problems of his own, and bossing around a kid a couple of years younger than himself was his way of dealing with them.

It was the summer of 1956 – Ron signed up for jujutsu lessons at the YMCA in a nearby town. Every Tuesday, he’d go into town and take his lesson. On Wednesday, he’d show me what he’d learned. Well, “show me” might be a little optimistic - what he did was practice on me. “Come at me like this,” he’d say, and like an idiot, I would. For hours each day, I practiced being his jujutsu partner. Occasionally, perhaps in fear that I’d get wise and stop being his punching bag, he’d let me try the techniques on him as well. Although I didn’t learn enough that summer to think I could conquer all the injustice in my life, battling my neighbor in stylized attacks and defenses gave me a glimmer of hope and a feeling that this was something worth doing. Somewhere, deep inside, I hoped that this would provide me with a path to dealing with bullies. I vowed that someday, I'd be strong enough and mean enough to stop being a victim. What I didn't understand was: I'd been trained to accept the role of victim. They weren't making me one - I was.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the first step on my journey. The following blog tells my story, as I remember it.