Aspirations of Vigilantism

The recent release of Christopher Nolan's "The Dark Knight Rises" has led to a few moments of nostalgia, most of which, are, or should be, sources of embarrassment.

I don't recall being the happiest of kids. And like many unhappy kids, I spent a lot of time in my own head, and in the pages of books and comic books alike. The arrival in the mail of Frank Miller's "The Dark Knight Returns" was a day of great rejoicing for 13 year old Jason, and for the next few nights, I reveled in the mean streets of Gotham City, cheering on Batman's extreme outpouring of justice upon the criminals of his world. And I suppose that it was that specific concept, Justice, which drew me to this vigilante so exuberantly.

Terrifying. Absolutely Terrifying.

Wherever it came from, I'd had an extremely strong sense of the differences between right and wrong for as long as I can remember, and with it an equally strong sense of indignation when those who did wrong were left unpunished. And so I dreamed, and spent many hours conjuring up images of myself donning a black ninja costume, wielding a quarter staff (pretty much a broomstick sans broom), bringing my own version of justice to the dark streets of Onalaska, WI-population: 13,536.

It's funny that despite absolutely no martial arts training, and to be honest, no real fights outside of playground altercations, I honestly believed that were I to come face to face with a criminal, the fight would be over in mere seconds. I'd start with a swift, quarter-staff strike to the neck, follow it up with a devastating round-house kick, and bring the near-unconscious perpetrator to his knees with a fight ending leg sweep. Not once did it occur to me that perhaps the man, who would most certainly have at least ten years on me, would grab my little broomstick from me and pummel me with it, or just run away, concluding that ignoring a 13-year old kid would probably be the wisest course of action.

One night, as I waited in my mother's minivan while she shopped at our local Shopko, I noticed a store manager rush out into the parking lot. My mom, returning soon after, remarked that apparently a shoplifter had successfully escaped capture by Shopko employees, and was now, I surmised, celebrating his unlawful acquisition in some dark alley nearby. Wearing, I believe, a Batman baseball cap, a Batman T-shirt, and a dark denim jean jacket, I was perfectly equipped to heatedly pursue the criminal into the night, my Batman insignias a golden testament to the justice which would soon fall upon this wretched shoplifter. And for a moment, I seriously considered running around the Shopko store, searching for this pathetic thief, and confronting him with a voice of authority and a flurry of chainsaw punches. And then I remembered...I didn't have my quarterstaff.

You win today, criminal vermin.