Becoming Who We Are Ch. 04

"Thank you," Mrs. Tang smiled. "Mark's a good boy."

"Speak of the devil," Melina said, peering beyond Mrs. Tang to the front door. Mark had just entered. He spotted them, smiled and sauntered over.

"Hi, Melina," he said, then smiled at her parents. "Are these your parents?"

Melina introduced them; Mrs. Tang excused herself.

"Very nice to have met you," she said to the Taylors. "Enjoy your meal."

To Mark, she added, "Come see me when you're finished talking."

"Join us?" Melina said, edging over on the booth's seat.

"For a minute," Mark, unable to resist temptation. She looked so pretty, wearing a blue and green sweater that enhanced her eyes. The elder Taylors exchanged another look. Their daughter certainly had built up a stable of admirers, hadn't she?

Mark's knee brushed Melina's as he slid into the seat beside her. He relished the contact. If he didn't look up, he could almost imagine he had her to himself.

"So, Mark," said the colonel, derailing the boy's delightfully dangerous train of thought. "You've got some good muscle there. What do you do to work out?"

"Some weightlifting, and martial arts, mostly."

"Good stuff," Col. Taylor said, nodding. "I picked up a few moves in Japan, and I'd like to get back to it. At my age, though, I should probably go with tai chi."

"Tai chi's good at any age," Mark said tactfully. "I do an abbreviated form of it to warm up."

"I still don't get why males are so hung up on martial arts," Melina said. "It looks like a bunch of kicking and punching to me."

"It's more than that," Mark said. "It's a whole way of approaching the world. Plus, you never know when some jerk's going to try something."

Joe Taylor nodded.

"He's right. The world has a lot of great people in it, but it has a lot of nasties, too. You really ought to learn the basics of self-defense, sweetheart."

"Who's going to attack me?" she asked skeptically.

"That's what my sister thought," Mark said quietly.

"How is she?" Melina asked.

"Lots better. The cast is off, and she's starting classes at the studio next week. It'll help strengthen her wrist, and help her if those guys ever try anything again."

"What happened?" Mrs. Taylor asked.

"Some high school guys jumped her and pushed her around a few weeks ago. She broke her wrist and they were worried she'd have a concussion, but she didn't."

"Good Lord! Did they ever catch the guys?"

"No. Mary couldn't describe the guys well enough for the cops to do anything."

"How awful! I'm so sorry," Mrs. Taylor said. "Melina, maybe you ought to consider a self-defense course if that kind of thing happens around here."

"Well," Mark said. "I doubt if these particular guys would go after Melina. They picked on my sister because she's Chinese."

"Thugs," Col. Taylor said grimly. "Of all the kinds of bad guys there are, I hate racists the worst."

"Why?" Mark asked, surprised at his vehemence.

"Because it's ignorance stomping on something new or different instead of trying to understand it. And a lot of racists seem to blame others for their own troubles instead of examining their own behavior and making changes."

"What do you mean?"

"Take the guy who never seems to get ahead. Maybe his skills are obsolete, maybe he never really paid much attention in school because his keg parties cut into his study time or his parents told him education was a waste of time and he believed them. Whatever. The years pass, and he never gets ahead. Maybe he has a family and now his wife nags him because they're always strapped for cash or he never has enough money to go out with the guys for a few beers. Well, it's unthinkable that this situation could be his own fault. So he looks around, and notices those quote unquote foreigners who apply themselves, maybe go to night school to learn the latest skills, and do get ahead. Aha! His miserable life is their fault! If they weren't here, he and his buddies would have their jobs. He conveniently forgets he has neither the skills nor the drive to get those jobs even if we closed our borders. Nope. It's all the fault of those damn foreigners."

He paused.

"That's why I can't stand racists. They blame others for their own problems, and that's not how my folks brought me up to think and live my life."

He looked at his companions, noticed the teens' wide-eyed stares and smiled.

"End of lecture. At ease."

"Which dishes can you recommend, Mark?" Mrs. Taylor asked, casting a sidelong glance at her husband. She liked her husband's philosophy of life, but he did tend to jump on his soapbox a bit too quickly.

"Pretty much anything," Mark said. "My dad prefers lighter, Cantonese cooking, but he and his cooks do everything well."

He rose.

"I hate to leave, but I need to get going. Nice to have met you all."

Col. Taylor regarded the boy.

"I don't know how busy your schedule is, Mark, but do you think you might find a little time to come over and show us some basic self-defense moves? Maybe Saturday before the game?"

"Sure," Mark said, thrilled at the opportunity. "What time?"

"How about nine thirty? That should give you and Melina time afterward to wash up and get ready for the game."

"Sounds fine. I'll be there. See you tomorrow at school, Melina."

"See ya," Melina said. The prospect of Mark teaching her something so physical both intimidated and excited her. She watched his graceful progress across the dining room, and smiled.

Mrs. Taylor followed her daughter's gaze. Mark certainly had a lithe, fit body, she thought, considering it with clinical detachment. She sneaked a quick glance at Melina's face and saw her eyes shining. She turned to her husband and raised one eyebrow. Perhaps they'd better not grow too fond of Pete Hess.