the tallest man, the broadest shoulders

This is a secondhand account, which was suggested to me by the protagonist of the story. So note - I am not an obsessive homosexual, as some readers suspected.


When I walk around a big city with my friends, I admit that i take stock of their build, athleticism and fighting abilities. So, if you're a girl, your stock is very low, especially if you're hot. Being hot will increase chances of harassment or attention from crazies, something I'd like to avoid if at all possible. So, sorry my hot lady friends, we're going to have to hang out in the suburbs.

If you're a guy, you should be athletic and strong, because I am not. If someone random homeless guy tries to attack us, don't depend on me to do anything except run away (3 varsity track letters.... ok they were for pole vault).

or, you can be dave park.

Here is a picture of dave, who is comparably huge standing next to me.

Ladies, swoon. Men, swoon too. Let me tell you a story about dave, one that highlights his broad shoulders and validates his heroism in the face of danger.

He was on time, a little early even, walking from the subway to Clara Barton High School in the heart of Brooklyn. There, he teaches math, or tries to, amidst confessions of resignation from his disenfranchised students: "yo mista, you can't help people that don't wanna help theyselves." He trudges on, putting up on the board some algebra or geometry. Sometimes he'll come across a youth who, instead of completing the square, would rather "make you bleed duck sauce". He suspends such types. Not all of his students are violently resistant to math, though they do beg the question, "Man, what the F*ck is up wit dis chinese nigga?"

So there's dave's normal work day, which is today, friday, december 7th 2007. He's been teaching at Clara Barton for five months, life-coaching urban students who hurl insults, threats, duck sauce and racial epithets at him. That's what he had looking forward to his day as he walked from the subway to Clara Barton High school when he turned the corner, took a few steps down the street and glanced into the alley.

A few boys engaged in horseplay, he initially thought. Just messing around, like he used to do with kids at the tae kwon do lessons he taught years ago. He took another step towards Clara Barton, but his conscience tugged his gaze towards those boys for a second look. There was a black boy, in his late teens, on top of a younger latino boy, whose head was in the aforementioned boy's hands and was being pounded against the ground. A split-second moment seemed like an eternity, as the latino boy gasped for air, shouted for help and caught, just for a split second, the worried eyes of our hero dave. The black boy's hand fell down to his victim's pockets, searching violently for a cell phone, a wallet.

The defender of the weak, the protector of the poor, dave did not hesitate. Dropping his bag full of failed homework, he took a few powerful strides towards the mugging. the assailant wore a blue puffy jacket, big enough to conceal a knife or a gun. Dave grabbed the jacket, pulling the boy up to his feet, and threw him against the alley wall. "Don't Move!" bellowed our hero, in a rattling baritone that temporarily stunned the mugger. When Dave looked down to help the victim, the black boy took off running.

"Th..Thank you," stammered the latino boy. Latino man, really. He was an 18 year old custodian at the Brooklyn Museum, but that's all the information Dave got before the frightened boy/man ran away. So there he stood, our hero, gathering himself and the events that had just occurred.

Picking up his bag of homework, papers bleeding with red ink and mistakes, dave walked to school, taken aback by his own heroic instincts. The adrenaline began to fade and rational thoughts began to creep in: What if he had a knife? Or a gun? What if he'll remember me and come back, with bigger, stronger goons?

But if he does come back, Dave will be ready. Whether he knows it or not, displays of heroism spring from an inner light that never turns off. Moments like this are not exceptions, but definitions, so we can now see Dave for the hero he is.

Also, after this incident, Dave bought a gun, which he carries everywhere he goes. Yes, he'll be ready.

Ladies, Dave is single. Gentlemen, Dave has no guy friends either. Be his girlfriend, or just his friend, and you're guaranteed a strong, athletic chinese nigga when walking down the unpredictable New York streets.

And call me when you get to the suburbs.


(kidding about dave buying a gun, though i would if i were him.)