Brent's Story (A "Living With The Choices We Make" Novella) ✔️

3 - Becoming A Man

His eyes go mild. "I understand that it is hard to find your footing when you have jerks like him who prey on the weak. We all experience those types of challenges at some point or another in our lives."

I gasp with surprise, it is the first time that he hasn't lectured me about being too wimpy.

"What you have to realize is that you are a 'Parks', Brent – we are proud men who stand up for ourselves. I think it is about time that you learn how to defend yourself. It is a cold world out there and it is partially my fault that I have not fully prepared you for it." He checks his watch. "At what time are you finishing school today?"

Usually, my mom would pick me up. "At four," I confirm.

His lips split to a font smile. "I will get you and take you over to a friend of mine who runs a self-defense center. He will know what to do and you'll see, together, we will make a man out of you in no time."

The prospect actually excites me, I have always wanted to learn how to wipe that smug smile of Ricky's face.

My dad hands me my P.E. bag. "Here, you forgot that."

I don't remember ever being happy about leaving something in his car. Usually, I would get a harsh slap on the back of my head for being careless but today, his offer to take me to the gym was like a reward. When I enter the school, I am certain that my life is about to change. I would finally learn how to fight back.

                                         xxxx

It is already dark when I finally step into the boxing ring at the gym for the first time. My dad's friend Tony is a former FBI colleague who used to be in charge of training new recruits and he was thrilled when my father dragged me along. For hours, he prepped me with various warming and loosening up exercises. My muscles are aching from the harsh workout but for once, I don't mind the pain.

 My shirt is sticking to my back and some sweat is itching on my forehead when I raise my fists.

"Keep your left hand next to your chin," Tony reminds me. "And the right one on your eye level just like we practiced on the mats."

I focus on his body language the way he taught me and prepare myself for his strike. His fist flies towards me out of nowhere and I instinctively cower and cover my face.

He snickers. "Don't be afraid of getting hurt, Brent."

That is easy for him to say, he hasn't been my father's punching bag for the past ten years.

I straighten back up when I notice my dad's frown. Tony and I begin to circle around each other until I throw a punch. It is easily blocked but it feels good that I at least tried.

Tony's next strike is made with utmost precision but his fist freezes just before it connects with my chin.

"We have to work on your reflexes, kid," he teases. "You are slower than my grandma."

I blush but the twinkle in his eyes is playful and puts me at ease.

"Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it," he reassures me.

We continue and his blows pelt down on me but he always stops before he can cause any damage. I really appreciate that he is not out to get me. Finally, my fist even finds its mark.

"Very good, Brent," he praises. "Keep those feet moving and stay focused."

My heart is racing in my chest and my achievement is spurring me on. With confidence, I deliver a few more strikes and though they are blocked, I still feel great about myself – something I can't remember ever experiencing before. I am used to being an utter failure but so far, the boxing could make me forget all those troubles and weaknesses.