Aha Moments

I'm going to tell you right up front that I'm no Oprah when it comes to "aha moments".  I've lived in Long Beach for three years now and frequently driven by a place on Naples called "Waterskis".  I have frequently wondered what the Waterskis were selling.  (The ninja who lives here favors perogies.)  The other day I had an aha moment when I realized that they sell water skis.

I had an aha moment last night.  Remember when I wrote about the security guard at McDonalds?  Remember when I wrote about the gangs assembling outside the RiteAid?  I don't remember if I ever wrote about that McDonald's having signs up forbidding high school students from coming in.  I thought that was pretty strange.  After all, it's high school students who are most likely to live off that stuff.  Aha!  The RiteAid that I go to all the time is not in a good neighborhood!  I think that's what they mean when they talk about bad neighborhoods.  The edge of what I think of as my neighborhood isn't a good one.  Huh.

Am I less likely to frequent that RiteAid or McDonalds now that I've had this epiphany?  Ha.  Not likely.  I've always been a bit of an idiot when it comes to fearing people because of....  well, mostly for almost any reason.  The only people I really fear are the people whom I have loved and trusted that have then gone on to hurt me.  (Emotionally, kids.  Have you seen my posse lately?)

Once I was telling Momo about this OG (old gangster) I had come across when I was in the hospital once.  I was telling him how it was nice that even though his face was tattooed with a stream of tear drops (I think you get to put one on for each person you have killed), everyone was being respectful of him as a person.  Momo started to laugh and then explained to his clueless mother that the other people were afraid of him.  My politically incorrect feeling was, "Well, good for him.  Taking a position of weakness and turning it into one of respect."  That takes a true warrior mentality.  [Disclaimer: I am not condoning gang violence, or killing people to improve your tattoos.  Just making an observation.]  

Perhaps I live in this happy (and possibly false) bubble of feeling safe because of the half a dozen young men who seem to live on my porch playing a never ending card game.  They aren't gang affiliated, but it wouldn't hurt their feelings one bit to defend their home and mom to the death.