Brad was having a bad day. Matter of fact, he thought, scowling at the "F" on his Math test, his whole life was the pits.

Maybe failing another test wouldn't have seemed so bad if he'd had breakfast that morning. But with his parents fighting again, who could stomach a bowl of Munchi-O's? He had grabbed his half-filled lunch kit off the kitchen counter and beat it out the door as fast as he could. Now his stomach was so empty it ached, he had failed his stupid fractions test, and Miss Williams was making sappy teacher noises at him about how he could do better if he tried. Yeah, right. Like he cared. If she thought he was going to be like that wimp Mike Patterson who sat beside him, always sucking up and trying to get her attention, she could think again.

At least it was almost lunch time. He was gonna start chewing on the desk if he had to sit here much longer. His mom hadn't put more than an apple and a couple of cookies in his lunch kit before the fight started, but that would be better than nothing. When he got home, he was going to make himself a huge double-decker peanut butter and jam sandwich. Maybe two. As long as his Dad wasn't there. The old man was pretty scary when he was mad, and he could stay mad a long time. If it looked like he was home, Brad was going to find something to do outside for a while.

Maybe Jason would let him come to his house after school...



"Ow!" Startled by the sudden vicious sting on his ear, he jumped, rattling the contents of his desk and sending his pencil flying.

"I saw that, Michael Patterson!" Miss Williams frowned at them, her mouth scrunched up in her I'm-disappointed-in-you look. "Pick up that eraser and stop fooling around." She turned back to the board and began to write out another fraction.

Brad rubbed his burning ear and stared at her in disbelief. That was it? Patterson pinged an eraser at him and just about took his ear off (the jerk) and the teacher acted like nothing had happened? If it had been him who hit someone, she'd probably have him half-way to the principal's office by now.

Brad scowled at Mike, who made big innocent eyes back at him. Yeah, sure. Teacher's pet Mikey. Thought he could get away with anything. Just because his dad was a dentist, making the big bucks. Heck, Pattersons were so rich that Mike's mom didn't have to work at all, just stay home and make nice big lunches for her baby boy. No way she'd ever pulled double shifts at a crummy waitress job or cried with worry because the landlord was bugging her and there wasn't enough money to pay the rent.

It was just like Brad's dad always said, life wasn't fair. Rich folk acted like they owned the world. If a guy didn't stick up for himself, they'd walk all over him.

Well, Patterson was gonna find out that Brad Luggsworth wasn't no doormat.

Mike wasn't cocky any more when Brad pinned him up against his locker and let him know he was in for it after school. It was pure pleasure to see the little jerk grovel as he stammered out his lame excuses. Everyone was watching Brad put him in his place. That was neat, to see them all looking bug-eyed and scared. Made him feel kind of important.

He kept his word, catching Patterson in the alleyway behind the school and giving him a licking that knocked all the snotty attitude right out of him. Just to make sure, Brad made a point of hanging around after school every couple of days to cuff Mike around a little more. He knew that Mike and his friends were terrified of him, which felt good. Kind of an ugly good, maybe, but so what? He didn't even hit the little nerd-head much anymore when he caught him. It was just fun to stalk him, like a big-game hunter after an antelope or something. It was a kick to have that kind of power over another person, to catch Mike despite the other boy's desperate attempts to evade him, and force him to his knees to cry "uncle".



With everything else in his life spinning out of control, anything that made him feel a little less helpless was a bonus.

His parents' fighting was getting worse all the time. Sometimes it made him sick to his stomach to hear them. He couldn't pay attention at school for worrying, and his marks were pretty much in the tank. But at least, for once, he was getting some respect. There wasn't a kid in school now who would dare mess with Brad Luggsworth. His dad had been right. A guy needed to stick up for himself. If it meant using his fists, well, a guy did what he had to do.

One day, Brad was still panting from chasing Mike all the way home when he came around the corner of his own street and stopped short, his heart slamming into the back of his throat. There was a police car sitting in front of his house, lights flashing.

In that one awful moment, Brad regretted every punch he'd laid on Mike. Geez, why hadn't he realized the Pattersons might call the cops on him! Oh man. He so did not want to go to jail. Assuming he lived long enough to get there. His dad was going to kill him for this. He was fighting the urge to turn and run when the door of the house opened. A man stumbled out, dishevelled and bloody, with his hands cuffed behind his back and a policeman's grip firm on his shoulder. It took Brad a stunned moment to recognize him.

"Dad!" Brad ran for the police car. "What happened?"

His dad didn't turn. Didn't even look at him. His eyes were cast down and he moved as clumsily as a man half-asleep as the policeman guided him to the police car and pressed him down into the back seat. Brad caught the musty stink of booze and sweat. And the coppery scent of blood ...

Somewhere in the distance, an ambulance siren wailed its way toward them.

Brad spun and raced for the house.

His mom was on the kitchen floor, with a policewoman bending over her. At the sight of what had been her face, his stomach lurched. The room began to spin in sickening circles. Strong hands caught him before he could hit the floor, eased him into a chair. His head was pressed between his knees and held there despite his struggles.

"Take it easy, son. Just sit there a minute until your head clears." The voice was deep and steady, with a faint vibration of anger in it. "It's enough to make a man sick, I know. But she's going to be OK." The cool relief of a wet cloth moved over his forehead, settled against the back of his neck. "We've got an ambulance coming to take your mom to the hospital right away. They'll take good care of her."

Brad lifted his head as his vision cleared, and stared into the policeman's steady gaze. "Why? Why did he do it?"

"Your dad's a weak man, son. I'm afraid that's about all there is to it."

"Weak?" Brad shot a frightened glance at his mother's battered face.

"That doesn't take strength. It just takes mean. Any guy with guts works out his problems himself. He doesn't use them as an excuse to knock around someone smaller." The policeman glanced up as two men in light blue uniforms hurried through the kitchen door, yellow cases in their hands. "It's a stupid thing to do, anyway, beating people up. Doesn't solve anything. Just gets a guy into worse trouble than whatever got his mean up in the first place." He gave Brad's shoulder a quick squeeze and rose to speak with the paramedics.

Much to Brad's relief, his mom come home from the hospital the next morning. Her face looked awful, all swollen and bruised, and she walked as stiffly as an old woman. But she wouldn't let him stay home and take care of her like he wanted.

"No, you go on to school." Her hands shook as she handed him his lunch kit. "And you pay attention in class, understand? I want you to graduate, maybe even go on to college after. If you can get a good job, it'll help you hold your head up, be a good man." She caught Brad in a hug so hard it hurt. He could feel the tremor of tears in her throat as she squeezed him. "I don't want you to be like him. You hear me, Brad? I couldn't stand it if you ever turned into a bully like your dad."

The walk to school seemed very, very long. His mom's words kept repeating themselves over and over in Brad's head. It made him go cold inside to think that his mom might find out that he'd been beating up on Michael. She'd told him that she was going to divorce his father, get a court order so he could never come back to the house again. If she knew that Brad was already like his dad, would she divorce him, too?

He was still worrying as he pulled his books out of his locker for the first class. Maybe if he apologized to Mike. Sucked up a bit. Everyone would laugh at him for it, but still -

A nervous cough beside him made him look up. Mike was standing there, looking bug-eyed but determined. "Uh, Brad?"

Uh oh. If Mike had something to say to him, it couldn't be good. Maybe the Pattersons were already on their way to see his mom. Brad braced himself for more misery. "Yeah? Whaddya want?"



"Instead of fighting all the time ... why don't we just be friends?"

Brad couldn't believe his ears. No threats, no tattling? No looming doom? Mike wanted to be friends?

He hoped Mike couldn't see his quiet jubilation. "OK."

It was funny to see Mike looking just as stunned - and relieved - as he felt himself. But he didn't care what anyone thought. It was like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. He could breathe again. His mom would never find out the awful truth and hate him for it. One thing for sure, he was never, ever going to beat up on anyone again.

It wasn't so easy to keep that promise, he discovered. Things were tough for the next couple of years. His dad went to jail, which was both a relief and seriously awful. The one time Brad went to see him at the penitentiary, it shocked him to see that his father seemed to have - well, shrunk somehow. He talked tough as ever, but now it sounded whiney, and kind of phoney. It didn't impress Brad anymore, it just made him feel sad.

Determined to make a better life for them, his mom went back to school to become a practical nurse. Money was tighter than ever. They had to move out of their run down house into an even worse little apartment. His reputation as a bully stuck with him, and it was hard to make friends. The guys who did want to hang out with him were always egging him on to show how tough he was. Now and then, he couldn't resist the temptation to bug Mike and the other kids a bit, just for something to do. But he never hit anyone unless some other guy pushed him into a fight. That happened a few times.

"Your mom tells me you've been fighting again. She's worried about you."

Brad flushed. The policeman who had talked to him That Day had come to their new place to tell his mom that his dad would be out of jail soon. Brad had been flattered when the Sergeant had asked him to walk to the car with him. Now he knew why.

"Yeah," he muttered into the neck of his t-shirt. "But it's not my fault. The other guys start it."

"You any good?"

Startled, Brad looked up into the hard blue eyes. He had expected a lecture, but this didn't sound like one. "Um. I guess so. I took a guy in Grade 6 who thought he was pretty tough. He was way bigger than me, too."

"Yeah, you look like you'd be fast. That's half the secret to handling big guys." They reached the squad car, and the policeman paused to gaze down at him. "Reason I ask, our detachment sponsors a youth club down on King Street. They've got a guy there, used to be a pretty good middle-weight, who teaches boxing. Only to kids who show some talent, though. Think you'd be interested?"

"Oh yeah." Brad stammered with excitement. "I watch fights all the time on TV, boxing and martial arts and stuff. Oh, man, it would be great to learn to do it for real."

"OK. As long as your mom agrees, I'll pick you up Saturday, take you to try out. She can come too, if she likes, and make sure she feels comfortable with you doing this."

It was the beginning of a whole new and satisfying phase in Brad's life. There was a lot more discipline involved in learning to box than he'd expected, and a rigorous emphasis on sportsmanship that he learned to appreciate. The youth club had other activities, too, team sports like baseball and soccer that he'd been too cool to bother with at school. He found it wasn't so hard to get along with other kids if they were doing stuff together. He was a good enough athlete to earn some respect, too. Real respect, not the ugly kind. He started to do better at school. It was easier, somehow, when there was something to look forward to each weekend.

When Brad was in Grade 9 and his school held a "take your kid to work" day, he found himself with a serious dilemma. Most of the guys in his class were going with their fathers to work. He didn't even know where his dad was any more. It would be embarrassing to be the uncool one, tagging along with his mommy while she emptied bedpans and coaxed old men into taking their pills.

"Well, you could spend the day with me in the squad car." His policeman friend grinned as he tightened the laces on Brad's boxing gloves. "It can be pretty boring some days. But maybe we'll get lucky and find a speeder or two to tag."

They found more than that. First there was a bad accident on the highway, then a fight between a couple of drunks. Worst of all was a "domestic", which brought back a rush of painful memories. Somehow they didn't hurt so bad, though, when he was on the side of the good guys, watching the quiet, firm way the policemen calmed the couple down and gave the abusive husband a stern warning. It was frightening, a little sickening, and incredibly exciting. Brad found himself in awe of the quiet courage of the policemen, and the way their wielded their authority with as much compassion as strength.

By the end of the day, he knew beyond a doubt what he wanted to be when he grew up. He had done his share of being a tough guy who caused trouble. Now he wanted to be one of the even tougher men and women who risked their lives to stop it.

As soon as he graduated, Brad took his policeman friend's advice and signed up for the Canadian Armed Forces. "It's good training, and it'll give you a chance to grow up a bit, see more of the world than just Milborough." The Sergeant gave him a wry smile. "Should give you some better references than you might get right now, too."

Brad found his stint with the Air Force both tough and satisfying. Still, he never wavered from his original plan to become a policeman. The moment he finished his three-year contract with the Forces, he applied to the Ontario Provincial Police. At last, in the spring of 1998, he put on his uniform as a fully qualified constable of the O.P.P.

It was with somewhat mixed feelings that, after three years in northern Ontario, Brad found himself posted to his hometown detachment. On the one hand, it felt good to show off what he'd made of himself. It was warming to receive the congratulations of people who remembered him as a surly bully and realize that they genuinely wished him well. But there was some embarrassment, too, in the constant reminder of those miserable early years of poverty and abuse.



It was while dealing with a hit-and-run that Brad first met Lisa, a pretty, athletic paramedic with big dark eyes and a smile that could make a man's head spin. He thought she was wonderful, too good to ever go out with a guy like him. When she pinned him up against the wall of the Emergency Ward late one night and planted a long wet one on him, he hastily revised that opinion.

Brad and Lisa are happily married now, with a young son and infant daughter. Brad's mother lives just a few blocks away, still works at the local hospital, and baby sits for them whenever they both pull weekend duty. She is deeply proud of her son and never hesitates to tell him so.

His father told him so, too, the one and only time Brad saw him in the last ten years. It was a bittersweet compliment, though. At the time, Brad was arresting him for drunk driving.