Rescuer Vs. Meddler

I have to draw the line when seeing something troubling: am I seeing something that I'd simply recommend against, or am I viewing a life changing event--or even a crime?

A very recent example was in a parking lot.  A young dad was walking his two or three year old daughter toward a store. He nicely said, "Hold Daddy's hand." and took the offered hand by the wrist and clutched her, guiding by the wrist and forearm.  Who hasn't done this?

But I went through the American Conservatory Theatre's Advanced Acting Training, and they taught us couple of things that applied out in life.  We did an exercise where each student got on our knees beside a classmate, in a parent-child walking together mode.  We were directed to hold hands, and we all held hands in a friendly, appropriate way.  Then the "parent" was directed to take the hand of the "child" in such a way that the kid can't get away.  The grips changed, and the kid became a prisoner.  The adjustment had a profound effect on the kneeling

Homeless, Gay Domestic Violence

Police say that domestic violence is the most dangerous situation that they have to get involved with. The sudden unpredictability can result in injury to those intervening.

A popular 7-11 in the Castro district takes good care of their coffee and is very busy with cops and cabbies. One weekend night about 10:00pm, I parked the cab and headed for my Jolt Cola and coffee fix, to keep me going until 4:00am.  Outside the store was an impromptu encampment of two homeless men.  As I approached, one man began shouting at the other, then grabbed him and began punching him in the face.  I jogged over to intervene, had my mace/pepper spray dispenser in my hand, when a group of 8 gay men walking by, shouted and walked over to step in. Several of them talked to the homeless assailant, momentarily distracting him from his partner. The situation began to calm, when the hitter suddenly resumed hitting the victim. I stepped up with mace poised, the group of Samaritans

Angry Dad at McDonald's

There is a situation that creates a quandary in many people's minds: what do we do when a parent begins to publicly abuse his child? Even authorities can freeze, not knowing where the line is with parental punishment.  I was in McDonalds enjoying a burger and coffee after school with my then 6 year old son.

A very angry looking man, with a very quiet, unhappy looking wife, sat across from each other in a booth.  A boy of about two sat in a high chair, between mom and dad, and an infant of several months lay on the bench beside dad, apparently asleep. The two year old began to fuss and the dad shouted angrily at him.  Dad them grabbed the boy's arm and squeezed it, while telling him to shut up. Mom remained motionless, as did the infant.

The restaurant went quiet. All the diners quietly looked around to see what anyone was thinking.  A security guard stood at the counter, looking around, wondering what should be done.  Dad was totally focused on the two year old.  He grabbed the kid by the ribcage and lifted him from the high chair, and began to squeeze him while telling him to shut up. I slid out of my booth and

Punching Machine Champion

Part of my getting involved in interrupting or preventing a violent incident includes not challenging the dominant force of the incident.  I am not the toughest guy in the world, in fact I don't even like to fight.  I just don't ever want to lose, and I am unable to be present for violence without taking SOME kind of action.  So intervening without appearing to, has worked for me.

Once I was visiting a huge Country and Western club in San Jose.  It had many attractions to occupy the drinkers between dances.  As I strolled through, I stopped at a crowded area around one machine.  Two men in cowboy attire were punching a machine that was registering the knock-out power in their right hands.  Both were impressive, making a dial spin multiple times.  One of them was clearly superior at this game, getting perhaps six spins to four from his adversary. They invited anyone to outpunch them for drinks.

The beautiful girlfriend of the superstar puncher was tiring of the show and approached him to get his attention.  He was excited about his success and the awe he was inspiring, but she wanted to move on.  She grabbed his shiny blue western shirt-sleeve and tugged.  He turned savagely and suddenly pushed her with both hands and down

The Crazed Boyfriend

My healing work continues.  Many of my most dangerous situations and interventions happened while driving a taxi in San Francisco. Several times I have been called a hero, and found it to be very moving and powerful.  I would like to think that there has been value in some of the things I have done. But there is an element of anonymity that is a mixed blessing.  I wonder if The Lone Ranger would sit around the campfire with Tonto, musing, "Do you think people appreciate what we've done?"  The Lone Ranger left behind a silver bullet.  I just left.  But there was satisfaction.

I remember driving a young man home to the outer Sunset District, about 1:00am. As we headed out Lincoln Avenue beside Golden Gate Park, a woman carrying her shoes, overcoat open and flapping, ran madly into the street screaming at us to stop. We stopped and she ran around to the passenger side. She frantically asked us to get her out of there.  I popped the lock and she climbed into the front.  I turned off of Lincoln to start evasive twists and turns while getting details about her situation.  Her boyfriend was quick to get to his car.  He came skidding around the corner while we were still on the first block, and he accelerated fiercely.

The woman said she was afraid he would hurt her, please call the police.  This was before cell phones.  I called dispatch, who questioned me about what kind of drama was I getting involved in tonight.  They then called the police.  I drove around  for 10 or 15 minutes, unable to lose the boyfriend.  I went around many corners, at one of them the woman opened her door and bolted from the cab.

Taxi Nightmare: "I have a gun."

One evening about midnight I picked up a man with an athletic bag on Third Street near the SFPD station.  He directed me to drive "straight ahead"--pointing south, out Third Street into the Bayview district.  I started moving and asked him to please be more precise, where are we going, an address or a business.  (This choice of directing a taxi driver without giving a destination is often linked to an assault or robbery of a driver, so the driver will likely behave strangely.)  He said, "Just drive, I'll tell you when to turn."  I asked again where we were going.  He said, "Look, I have a gun in this bag, do I have to show you?"
"No."
I continued at the speed limit, but I began running red lights.  I hoped some police cruiser would

PTSD and the Part-Time Hero

I am learning a lot about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as I’m treated for it.  I am a veteran of the Air Force from “the Vietnam Era,” but I was not in Vietnam or in combat.   I originally believed that harsh parental discipline was the sole cause of my PTSD, but lo-and-behold, difficulties at birth and shortly after were the beginning, and discipline was heaped on my sensitized body and soul.

My family fits a known pattern of generations of childhood punishment that would now be considered abuse.  Just as I want to be clear about my no-combat military service, I also make no claim to have been the “most abused” boy in America.  Actually, I am reaching some conclusions of my own that suggest there are some cultural norms for treatment of male infants, toddlers and adolescents that damage us into some patterns that pass for “masculine.”

I recently watched a three year old boy step up onto some exposed roots of an urban tree, then slip and bounce onto his hip and shins and down onto the sidewalk.  He rested for a moment on all fours before moaning “Oweeeee,” and beginning to cry.  Mom was standing nearby with