Sending Out the Bat Signal

I was walking my dog through my old neighborhood when a group of middle school boys caught up to me.  At first I didn't see them as I had headphones on and was probably having some intense one-on-one time with George Michael or maybe the Les Mis soundtrack, but I noticed the dog tense up and turned around to see them approaching.

"Hey Fat Ass," one said jovially.

I seriously felt like I was in a dream sequence from an 80's teen movie.  I took the headphones off, still thinking couldn't possibly have heard that right and said, "Excuse me?"

"Hi Fat Ass.  How you doing today, Fat Girl?"

My stomach tensed up. For the first time in a long time, I was speechless.  I don't think they knew me or who I was, but I knew one of them.  He was the younger brother of one of my friends and I remembered when he was born.  They were probably 12 or 13 and I was 23, but they seemed to have no fear that they'd get in trouble for anything they might say.  Just a gang of wild pre-teen asshole boys having a fun time taunting random people walking their dogs. 

I forget what I said to them.  It was one of those days where dealing with life had just not been easy.  I had been walking the dog to blow off steam and relax.  This scene right out of "Welcome to the Dollhouse" didn't help matters.  The boys followed behind me for about two blocks, calling me names and taunting me.  I finally turned into a park, sat down on a bench and blinked back tears.  

I was shaken and sad, probably PMSing too, because the typical me would have crippled these kids verbally.  Luckily, I had my cell phone and I called my parents' house and asked my 16-year-old sister Kerry to pick me up.  I told her briefly what had happened and she hung up the phone, promising to be there soon.

Five minutes later, I heard brakes screech on the street in front of the park.  Kerry was driving her car, which in itself was something to see.  It was a twenty year old beater that she had painted black with house paint.  She had also painted the Batman insignia on the front hood.  The Wrights are a classy people, in case you've been wondering.  Kerry opened the window and yelled out, "Get in."

When I boarded the Batmobile, I found Kerry, absolutely furious and clutching a carton of eggs.  She was in no mood for small talk.  "Which way did they go?" she demanded.  She meant business.  Nobody insulted her sister and got away with it and Kerry was ready for a good old fashioned egg attack.  

I can't really remember what happened after that, which is funny.  I'd love to write that we found the kids and pelted them with eggs, that they all cried and begged me for forgiveness and that they sent me beautifully worded letters of apology along with gift certificates for iTunes, but my mind is blank.  Sorry about that.

The thing that I'll take away from that memory, which just came back to me for the first time in years last night, was that my sister was there for me in minutes, ready to brutally attack anyone who would have hurt me and made me cry.  There was no hesitation or asking to hear the other side of the story- she was instantly ready for battle.  If she could have killed the little losers at that point, she would have done it, consequences be damned.  

That kind of loyalty and love is shocking when it's directed towards you and it instantly made me feel all better.  The fact that a group of children had made me cry suddenly seemed ridiculous and hilarious.  A day that had seemed terrible and then gotten worse was now an adventure, all because of Kerry's reaction.   I'll never forget how it felt to be rescued by my sister in the Batmobile.  

I am lucky to have a Batman in my life, and her wheels have improved considerably since that day in 2002.