Don't mess with Catholics

This happened not long ago yet not very recently.

There we were, my entire family at mass; including my wife (the fetching Scotty), all my siblings and my mother and father. There he was, some degenerate gang-banging personage strolling down the isle toward the altar. There we watched as he proceeded to pull some type of liquid container from his jacket and pour its contents out upon the altar's brick-laid floor.

Our priest, perhaps a bit startled and frightened, moved away from him and subtly beseeched the congregation for "a little help."

My father, perhaps by nature or perhaps by upbringing, is not opposed to "mixing it up" when the situation calls for such action. In argument for his "nature", I can tell a few stories from the perspective of my childhood in which someone crossed his patient, ultimate line and was met by his determined glare and a piercing, classically phrased challenge: "And how would you like a punch in the nose?" I also recall this remark when he witnessed a clearly non-handicapped person park in a handicapped spot: "Hey! What's your handicap, your brain?"

In argument for his "upbringing", I can tell stories of my grandfather (his father), a large and strong man, who once lifted a drunk, bullying punk at Dodger Stadium by his lapels with one hand and pinned him to the wall with dangling feet.

Mind you, my father is not a violent man by any means. But if pushed to it, let's just say I wouldn't want to be the one who pushed him. He has a history of judo and wrestling and both myself and my brother can attest to the incapacitating nature of his "holds" and "moves."

My brother and I have either inherited his nature or are the result of our own upbringing. But I digress a bit.

My father, brother and I heard the call of our beleaguered priest and immediately looked knowingly at one another and made our way toward the altar. A rag-tag group of five or six older men joined our crusade.

The young ruffian, still defiant but a bit disturbed by our advances, made an exit toward the side door. We followed in measured confidence.

Once outside, however, he grew a bit cocky. Stopping at the back of the church, he began taunting our group of Catholic crusaders. He proceeded to take off his jacket, raise his fists and ask in the parlance of our time, "Who wants some?" Call it my nature or call it my upbringing, but I began to grow angry when I perceived that his taunts were mainly directed at me. I said nothing in response. I only watched him closely and steadily. I think this began to unnerve him a bit -- this along with the fact that he slowly began to realize that he was far outnumbered - Catholics or not.

He now began to walk again in a bit of a retreat but in a route that passed right in front of me. Though retreating, he still taunted me with his words and eyes. It seemed he was leaving the premises but still...my blood boiled.

I clothes-lined him like he was a wide-out coming across the middle. He went down. I went down. I'm sure my father and brother's eyes rolled in a "c'mon he was leaving" type of way. Nevertheless, as soon I was down on the ground with him, I immediately felt another body insinuating its way into the scrum. It was my father -- my father.

There I was, a bit bigger and maybe a bit stronger, and fully a man, but once I knew it was him, I abdicated the end of the struggle to my dad. For an instant, I became a child again. I felt protected -- and rightly so. The young punk was now in the midst of one of my father's python-like, twisting, paralyzing holds. My dad, tough yet compassionate, asked the once taunting and impudent thug, "Can you breathe?" To which the thug replied in the meekest of voices, "Uh huh..."

Police were called. One of the old men applied his foot to the guy's neck, wishing to bask in some moment of triumph. Others gathered around. All the while, my dad kept his grip on him, continually asking, "Are you okay? Can you breathe?"

Since that day, there has been much talk in our family about my anger and "take down". I nod and laugh. But truly and always I will remember how, as a man, I became a child again; how my father was my hero; how he always will be -- in ways that are mine alone to cherish.