Defender of Mankind or Cletus' Worst Nightmare?

Joan of Arc did it and she is forever ingrained in our minds as the epitome of the martyr; defender of mankind.  Don't we all want to be the Joan of today?  To save the meek of spirit and always be out for the underdog?  We all have had those feelings.  We see someone made fun of or an underprivileged person being shunned by society and want so badly to be their savior; to come to their rescue and defeat the bad guy.  If only we came equipped with the sword and armor that seems to go hand in hand with the Joan of Arc role.

My first real feeling of wanting to save the world one person at a time was in the 5th grade.  Lyle was a boy in my brother Matt's grade; two years older than me.  Lyle was tall and lanky.  He had wire rim glasses and kept to himself.  Being two years younger, I didn't interact with him, but he always seemed a bit shy and with a disposition that struck me as kind.

This was the late 70's in small town Iowa.  Small towns didn't have middle schools.  We had grade schools and we had high schools.  As a 5th grader, we were pooled with the "older kids".  Also, we didn't have back packs.  I am not quite sure when this great invention was introduced.  And frankly, maybe it was at this time, but we sure didn't know this luxury in Remsen.  Needless to say, I carried a stack of books home every day from school which was the "norm" with my classmates as well.

One spring day the mass exodus of school began after the sound of the much anticipated end-of-school bell.  We all scurried like a bunch of mice to escape the hot school (no air conditioning...another injustice that my children can not quite grasp).  There were two steps that extended past the back exit door of the school.  After I ran out the door along with the other 43 fifth graders, I stepped aside next to the building to wait for one of my brothers.  I watched the kids pouring out while I searched for my brother, Matt.  Through the hustle, shoving and positioning of getting out ahead of the rest, someone tripped and fell in the middle of the chaos.  What quickly followed was the sound of kids laughing at this unexpected casualty.

There lay Lyle with books and papers strewn everywhere and his glasses half cocked on this face.  He was dazed and looking around.  Everyone had stopped.  They just stood there and stared with a few pointing and laughing.  I just had this incredible desire to help this poor boy out.  So out jumps the 5th grade girl jostling her way to rescue the 7th grade boy from his current affliction.  I knelt down and helped a very bewildered Lyle gather his books and papers.  I point to his glasses (trying to be indiscreet) and Lyle gives them a quick adjustment.  Without a word being exchanged, Lyle quietly went about his business; getting in line for the bus and everyone else just kept on moving.  I am not quite sure why that is such a strong memory for me other than it was my first real life experience that empowered me to believe that I could make a difference in someone else's life.  It was probably a good thing at the time that I didn't solicit feedback from Lyle on his assessment of the incident.

Fast forward nine years to my junior year in college.  I have now gained some maturity and some real life experiences in helping others; nothing terribly heroic or noteworthy, but experiences none the less.  Scott and I were dating and he held the esteemed position of dorm RA (Resident Assistant).  With this new position came some added responsibility; one of which was driving the "Drunk Bus".  Our college Drunk Bus was the equivalent to today's "Happy Cab"...a free ride on special occasions for those too impaired to drive.  This particular night Scott and I had volunteered to drive the Drunk Bus, shuttling the enthusiastic party-goers to the kegger at the sand pit and then back to campus again.

As many can relate, being the drunk driver is never the most glamorous role.  In fact, it can be taxing.  Drunks can wear on the best of us and frankly, I wasn't a very seasoned party girl at age 20.  My point (foreshadowing) is that I might of been carrying a bit of an edge the night of my perceived heroics.  This particular night was a warm fall night, early in the school year with a keg at the LeMars sand pit, a common place for college parties.

We had probably made three round trips by the time we pulled up to the pit to see a ring of people gathered in the dark.  "What's going on?"  I ask Scott.  "I don't know," he says as he hops out running to the crowd to assess the situation.  I follow in the darkness trying to make out what the mass of people are watching so intently.  As I push through the crowd, I see the focus of their entertainment and curiosity; a fight!  Yep, a true-blue, testosterone-filled, two boy, fist fight.  In horror, I recognize both fighters.

Fighter #1 - Kelly.  Description of Fighter:  College quarterback, FUNNY, life of the party and the biggest heart breaker on campus.  Can't lie...yep, I personally fell in the 50% group of women on campus that had dated Kelly at some point in time.  Though very short lived, dating Kelly was fun.  He was the master entertainer and quite a ham.  Add the athletic ability, good looks, charm and the result was campus stud; everyone's buddy and BMOC.

Fighter # 2 - Cletus.  Description of Fighter:  Overweight, sloven, football bench-warmer who appeared ill-natured to the strangers he encountered.  He never seemed very happy and certainly won no popularity contests.  His clothes weren't the "in" clothes and his friends weren't the "in" friends.  In our college terms, he was a "Mugwump"; basically the jargon for campus nerd.

So Kelly and Cletus were center ring; throwing punches at each other with a group of about thirty people surrounding, watching and cheering.  From my vantage point, Cletus was the victim.  People were cheering for popular, confident Kelly.  Poor Cletus was being PICKED ON <gasp>!!  Somewhere from deep inside, Joan took over Sandy.  With the bravery of a heroine, I pushed everyone out of my way and ran to center ring.  by this time, Cletus was on his back with Kelly delivering a blow.  With strength that I didn't even know I had, I jumped in next to Kelly and shoved him to the ground.  At the top of my lungs I started screaming, "STOP, Kelly!  What are you doing???  Leave him alone.  Leave poor Cletus alone!  What did he do to you?  STOP it NOW!!!"  All the time I am yelling these things, I am shoving Kelly into the ground.  He is looking at me in pure horror.  First he is trying to figure out who I am and then he is trying to make sense out of what I am saying.  You could have heard a pin drop.  The crowd was silent and in shock at what was transpiring in front of them.  The look on their faces read "What the Hell is Sandy doing?".

In one of those moments where it truly feels like time has gone into slow motion, I look around at the crowd.  There were many quizzical looks as to what was happening.  Kelly went from the combative, fighting face to staring at me and then actually asking what everyone else was thinking, "Sandy, what the Hell are you doing?".  I turn to my victim, Cletus.  I was desperately looking for affirmation from the man whom I had so valiantly risked my well being to save from the perils of Kelly.  What I see on his face isn't relief or gratitude, but rather mortification and humiliation.  "What are you doing?"  Cletus yells at me.  I suddenly had the feeling that would equate to realizing you are naked on stage during a performance.  No one in the circle radius had any clue what I was trying to do and why; including Cletus.  Without saying another word, I quietly walked back into the shadows.  It was amazing how my seemingly heroic actions and words were like cold water on the battle at hand.  Cletus simply got up and walked away.  Kelly looked around in puzzlement, then quickly got back on his game and cracked a joke.  The crowd roared and slowly returned to the party.  I crawled into the Drunk Bus.  Scott looked at me with wide eyes and asked the same question, "What the Hell were you doing?".  My answer, "I really have no idea."

So life on campus proceeded as always.  Kelly continued to be the life of the party and Cletus continued his role as campus Mugwump.  There were many times that Cletus and I would run into each other around campus.  He would just look away and didn't acknowledge my existence.  I believe in today's terms it would be called being "dead in someones eyes".  So...note to self; before playing heroine, first ascertain that there truly is a victim involved and more importantly, verify that the purported victim wants your help.  That was the flaw in my decision making.  I assumed.  And when it comes to love, war, and saving the world; never assume.  Lesson learned.