Oh man, story time!

I like to stab people competitively. One of the risks you run is that they stab you back.

About 20 years ago now I was sparring with a pal of mine. We were using shinai - a Japanese sparring sword made of four slats of bamboo lashed together with leather. My pal drew back for a pull thrust and I deflected it with a move where I stepped back and lifted my blade to direct the thrust above my head.

… Only I forgot to step back. Instead of redirecting the thrust harmlessly above myself, I brought the tip of his shinai directly into my right eye. (Stupidly, I wasn’t wearing any protective gear.) The inch-wide tip smashed my eye down and collided with the back of my eye socket.

I hit the ground, blind, weeping blood and in the most pain I’ve ever experienced.

Fortunately, I kept the eye… but I was seeing triple due to the swelling in my socket. So I bought an eye patch and wore it until I healed.

During my convalescence I happened to have a really shitty day. It was a cold winter day and I was running late to work. My car ran out of gas a mile short. I had to run the last mile in the cold and wet, already late and getting more frustrated every moment.

By the time I reached the parking lot for my shitty retail job, I was in a foul mood.

… Now at this point in my life I wore a frankly excessive amount of black leather. Black leather boots. Black leather jacket. Black leather gloves. My pants were black too, but they were at least denim.

So imagine if you will - a six foot tall man, wearing all black leather and an eyepatch, stalking angrily across the parking lot with a baleful expression.

People were getting the fuck outta my way. Gazes averted, people turned their heads and just dipped.

… Until The Boy. A pale haired kid of about five or six was being towed out of my path by his mushroom- haired mother - but he was rooted to the spot. Staring at me with unabashed excitement, he slipped free of his mother’s grasp and shouted, “Look Mom! A Pirate!”

I started guffawing, bad mood instantly gone. Mushroom-Mom grabbed her kid and started dragging him away. I called after them “It’s okay!” But with a mumbled “No, it’s not”, she dragged the boy into their car and fled.

… And I went to work, Pirate King of the K-Mart.