What’s up Mr. Wong?” He mumbled it under his breath, probably half hoping I wouldn’t hear it. At that instant, I had a decision to make- turn around and confront, or walk out the door and regret it for the rest of my life. The decision was made in an instant.
The year was 2000. It was Sunday on a warm July late afternoon in Geneseo, NY . The sun was shining and a light breeze cooled the moisture off my skin. My two friends and I decided that it was the perfect day for an outdoor dinner. We headed to one of the few restaurants in my college town that could accommodate this desire. Back then, I had already graduated college and decided to delay an office job. Ironically, I was working at a company that constructed those horrible cubicle offices for corporations that were on the move. It was back breaking work filled with 17 hour workdays. But it was honest work. Let’s face it. I was blessed to not have to work in the environment that I was creating for others.
The mood was light and we were simply thankful to be enjoying such a beautiful day. An hour or so into our dinner, a group of seven young men approached the restaurant. They were rowdy and obviously intoxicated. My spider sense went off. They entered the inside of the building, ignoring us while being obnoxious to a female patron in passing as they entered. We were all glad they decided to eat in. About a half hour later, I needed to use the bathroom. I went inside and saw the group sitting along the bar. I handled my business in the bathroom and went to walk out to the front porch and join my friends. I was at the front door, my hand about to grasp the doorknob when I heard it. “What’s up Mr. Wong?” It wasn’t so much the ridiculously idiotic question, but the vitriol behind it. The comment made spit on my ethnicity, tore down the hard work of my ancestors, slapped my father’s face and rubbed it in shit. A quiet, controlled rage developed. I had a decision to make. If I turned around, I knew I would at the very least, potentially suffer a beating. But if I walked out the door, pretending not to hear, I knew I would regret it for the rest of my life. I knew that I wouldn’t get help from my other friends. Frankly, I didn’t want it. They weren’t exactly the fighting type. I preferred to do this alone. The decision was easy. I mentally shrugged my shoulders thinking, “Oh well, let’s get this over with.”
I turned around slowly and walked towards them. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” My tone was calm and the question asked legitimately, as if I really didn’t hear it. One of them looked over, acting as if nothing was said. In an instant, one of the group of seven approached my right side and immediately took a swing at my head. Maybe he called me “tough guy,” maybe he didn’t. It was a blur. I ducked under his swing as my fist connected with his face. As soon as my punch made contact, they were already on top of me. A flurry of kicks and punches knocked me to the ground. I heard the female bartender’s screams. It was straight out of a scene in a movie. They surrounded me, stomping and punching continuously. Death was a real potential. A correctly placed strike to my head could do some real damage. I had the wherewithal to back myself into a doorway so only a few of them could reach me with their attacks. I was striking back from the ground, but they were more instinctual than impactful. Suddenly, a man that had been sitting on the front porch appeared. He had the build of a hockey player. He positioned himself in the doorway, separating them from me. He took a few weak punches from them, but didn’t strike back. He would be where I was if he did. Smart man. The violence eventually died down. They were yelling slurs at me as the good samaritan escorted me out. I was still angry and yelled back. I was ready to go again, knowing I would lose. In retrospect of course, that was stupid. I endangered the safety of the man that was helping me. I walked out onto the porch to the surprise of my friends. Hearing the commotion, they asked what happened. The police arrived after the group walked out. I described a few of the attackers to the police and they were hauled in a few minutes later. I identified them and they were arrested. The police interviewed me and asked if I was hurt. I told them I was okay. I had a slightly bloody nose, a few scratches and bruises. I didn’t notice anything else until the adrenaline wore off. My left arm was obviously broken.
What’s the point of the story? Sometimes, you just have to fight. You have to stand up for yourself, for what you believe in, for what is right. My brother told me that I made a stupid decision, that I should have walked away. I disagree. I would make the same decision again, knowing the outcome. Why? It’s not because I’m trying to display some macho bravado. It’s not because I like to fight. I don’t. I fancy myself as much more of a lover than a fighter. But I knew in my heart that if I walked out that door without saying a word, I would regret that decision for the rest of my life. Regret is worse than any beating I would suffer. I wasn’t looking for a physical confrontation. A part of me was hoping that there would be some dialogue. I tried words, they decided to use fists and feet.
What’s your fight? Maybe it’s your health. Maybe it’s finding what your meant to do with this life, this one single existence. Maybe it’s fighting against the doldrums of the everyday. Choose to fight, choose to find out what you’re meant to do, what you’re meant to be. Choose yourself. It’s not progress if you know the outcome is going to go your way. Experience the exhilarating fear of the unknown. Life may beat you down. Are you just going to lie there and take it? Or will you choose to stand right back up? You have that ability. Everyone does. You can’t change the decisions that you made in the past, but you can affect your future by the decisions you make right now. Imagine yourself on your deathbed wishing you had done this or that. Imagine the sadness, the deep, stinging regret. That is what fuels me everyday. Love yourself, bet on yourself, lean against your edges, take huge action and get better little by little everyday. Fear is fleeting. Regret? That shit lasts forever….