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It was the early 1980s, and I worked forty hours per week and also helped teach martial arts three nights, taking my daughter with me to karate. My good friend at the time was a black belt, like me, and we were both judges in local karate tournaments. After class, we went to Godfather's Pizza for dinner. I ate salad at their salad bar many times during those years and loved it. She and I would watch all the karate and kung fu videos, so popular then, at either her place or mine on weekends. We loved the cheesy kung fu movies. Our bodies bobbed and weaved with each punch and kick. We would holler out and watch the unbelievable stunts. We discussed all the films with our martial arts friends. There were many with unknown stars, but also the Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris movies and, later on, Steven Seagall ones; we were entertained by them all.

***

My daughter and I lived in a poorer section of Anchorage, the area I could afford on my salary and with no child support. Luckily, it was not even a block to school for her; we could see it from our apartment building driveway.

Once the snow and ice melted and the daylight grew longer, Alaskan native kids played outside even after midnight when I tried to sleep. Many residents used aluminum foil in the windows to block the everlasting sunlight.

For a short while, a native couple with two small children lived below me in the daylight basement apartment (their window was even with the sidewalk). The husband was an alcoholic and frequently stumbled home with her to help him.

One day, my daughter visiting a friend who lived one block over. I heard men talking loudly in the hallway and the two kids from below yelling back. The men got louder and louder, slurring their words. I opened my door and saw two Alaskan native men, one very tall, shoving their way into the kids' apartment. The kids were crying, and their parents were not there. I yelled at the man as he roughed them up, asking who he was. Slurring his words, he responded that he was babysitting and was their uncle. The two guys were falling against the walls, so drunk they barely could stand.

The boy and girl were crying, fearful and worried. The men shoved their way inside. It was apparent the kids knew them but were frightened of their drunkenness, just as I was.

I dialed the police quietly from my apartment, noting the time I called. Immediately afterward, I ran down the stairs and found the door slightly ajar.

The tall man was slouched in a kitchen chair and looked up as I stood in the doorway. A clock on the wall matched my watch, the hands had not moved to a new minute yet.

"How long does it take for the police to arrive?" I wondered. I was calculating this showdown in my head: the danger to me and the kids, along with the timeframe for the police to arrive. All were unknowns.

It didn't matter. What mattered was the safety of the boy and girl, who were across the room, watching us.

Yes, I was a black belt; we taught that the first defense is always to avoid or run away from danger. That defense was not an option this time. I had put myself into it rather than avoiding it and certainly wasn’t going to stay in my apartment while the kids were in possible danger.

"Where is your mother?" I asked the older brother.

"She went to the store."

"Who are these guys?"

"He is my uncle," the boy said, pointing to the tall man.

The uncle yelled at the boy, swinging his arm but was too far away to reach him.

"You are too drunk to babysit these kids."

"What's it to you? Their mother will be here soon." He was barely understandable. He shook his head to try and clear it of the liquor fog.

"You and your friend need to leave. I will watch them until their mother returns."

The seconds ticked down as our confrontation began.

He stumbled to his feet and took a step toward me. I stood my ground as he reached for me, but missed in his drunken stupor. My heart thumping from the confrontation, I felt time speed up as he moved in again, reaching to grab me.

I ordered the kids to run upstairs to my apartment and herded them out, keeping myself between them and the uncle.

He was making his way toward me, stumbling into the walls. A quick glance at the clock showed the same time as when I entered. So slow!

Staring at him as he tried to grab me, I spat out, "Go ahead, just try it. The police are on their way."

That statement sobered him, and he decided it was best to leave. My brain still clicked along with an internal stopwatch, hoping to hear sirens.

He left the apartment, but in the hallway, before he could exit the building, he and his friend were stopped by the police. Behind them was the drunk father and his sober wife. The father was so inebriated he fell, as he tried to go down the stairs to his apartment.

60 seconds of danger and dispute were followed by their arrest. I approached the mother quietly.

“I can give you phone numbers to shelters.”

She just looked at me blankly, not understanding the assistance I offered. Her focus was on the arrest of all the men for drunkenness, including her husband.

From her look I knew she was not going to leave her husband; not even for a night. After all, he wasn’t drunk all the time, just sometimes.

***

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Had to end the sad story with a beautiful flower for the readers!

Copyright © 4/29/2024 by Andrea O. Corwin

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