Growing up in Iowa my grandfather was a scrawny kid that the bigger boys liked to pick upon.  He often remembered with shame being chased home from school.  As a young father these memories all came back as he observed several terrified boys being chased down the street by another.  Conflicting emotions arose within him when he realized that the boy doing the chasing was his own son.

Another of his sons, my father, got married in college, and was soon the father of a little girl.  Money was non-existent.  In order to earn a little cash, my father decided to enter the city boxing competition.  It was open to all comers, and the purse would go to the last one standing.  Hardened loggers entered the fray, and dad took them on one by one.  He won the golden gloves boxing championship that year.

I, myself, have never been in a fight.  When my physical education class had to learn boxing in high school, I was punched in the nose.  It brought immediate tears to my eyes, not from any emotion, but from a natural physical reaction to being hit.  I decided then that fighting was not my thing.