No, I’m not a lone wolf. Wolves aren’t soft and cuddly. Wolves don’t have big and lumbering figures that take three years to make a turn. They’re agile, they’re swift, decisive, always going in for the kill. At least I’d like to think so; if not the better. Oh no, I’m not a wolf. Maybe a bear. Thick. Warm. Makes porridge for the family. Protective. Likes honey. Yeah, something like a bear alright. Would make an excellent coat.
Thing with bears though; they have really thick fur, braving even the longest of winters. That fur isn’t easy to sink teeth into. Or claws. It would take a great deal for a wolf to bring a bear down. A lone wolf surely can’t take the bear. That’s why he brings friends.
But what did the bear ever do. I’m guessing all the guy did was become extra clingly to a pot of honey. Or probably the wolves weren’t even targeting the bear. They were just out looking for something to chew on and this “monster” decides it isn’t having any of it. For some reason, the bear decides that those “creatures” are its responsibility, and are worth protecting?
This isn’t the first time the bear is taking a last stand. He probably is the patron saint of the last stand. He’s used to it by now. He knows it’s gonna sting. He knows it may not end well. But he plants those trees he calls feet into the ground; and with his most excellent Gandalf impression takes all the punishment and holds that line. No wolf gets past here. Not on his watch.
During battle, the single thought in a soldier’s head is the difference between life and death. Between going home with decorated clad or in a body bag. I’d sure like to know what spurs the bear on. What’s keeps his resolve strong. What makes every scratch, swipe and bite worth it.
Is it that the others get to safety and and live happily ever after? No that can’t be it; they probably aren’t even concerned about him, and may never see him again. Is it the honey pot he’s left at home or the zingy feeling of the snow nursing his wounds with a slight yet addictive sting? Maybe. But I think it’s something more. I think the bear knows the strongest and most fragile force on the planet, and is ready to die if it means he has to protect it. And that force is nothing other than hope.
Hope for a new tomorrow, hope for a better tomorrow. Hope that this is not the end. Hope that life suck, just for now. Without hope we’re already dead; we’re circling the drain. But with hope, with even the smallest bit of hope, strength is born. Hope is that light guiding you out of the tunnel, without it you’re better off in a hole.
The thing with lone wolves is that they go into hiding when injured. Too proud to show weakness. It matters how others see them. But not bears. There’s no time for a bear to hide. There’s too much at stake. If they’re breathing they’re dancing with the wolves. They’ll stop when they’re dead.
But does the bear have hope then? Wait, who protects the bear’s hope?
This isn’t about the bear.
*’Kakkoi no Otou-chan’ is a Japanese translation of ‘Cool Dad’
*Disclaimer: The story may be 85% correct coz its what I heard and intel in Ngummo is somewhat trustworthy
It shouldn’t surprise you I remember my [late] father by his birthday (2nd May) rather than his day of demise. Let’s just say that’s me and that’s a topic for another day. And yep! Unlike most of you (:p) I had a cool dad. You know, the type that didn’t wear suits much, could hang out with your friends, anawagotea*, loved fun stuff and loved people. He had the nickname ‘Boxer’ ; ok, he was a boxer and did very well I must say; and he loved mock fights with me and my pals. I could say he was ‘burning with the flame of youth.’ He also had a habit of giving me unprecedented nicknames then strech my cheeks to make me smile when I started frowning. He had one lame joke, hmm…I think it was about a mosquito in France with a wooden leg…something something..we always put him off before he could finish so I still don’t know the answer, sadly. *Sigh* and he also had the habit of starting stories halfway…”And the elephant came!” ???
Particularly I remember one funny incident that happened quite sometime back. The details are a little bit sketchy so I’ll tell them to the best of my knowledge. One Sunday afternoon, my dad and my sister were coming home when apparently one of the estate boys lets out a comment that no one in their right mind would, especially if you were not strong and can’t run away from danger. Seriously, how do you call a woman’ fat’ in front of her own father?! Deathwish, perhaps? Anyway, so the guy manages to let out the word ‘fat’ accompanied by a small giggle. My sister glances back and then ignores the comment, like nothing happened. Strong lady Anne Orwa is, but that didn’t matter. I think I could say ‘the lion in my dad awoke’ and he turned to the retard. Silence. And to everyone’s surprise, the old man starts chasing this 21 year old.
Chasing! Believe it! He ran towards him and they went for a lap round the estate. A fifty something year old man against a 21 year old. That I can confirm because from the house you could hear his wailings and pleas of forgiveness. And they were loud and babyish so I came out to have a look. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to have pity but the estate was at a standstill as my dad caught up with the young lad and pinned him to the ground. “Sorry! Sorry!” I could hear the boy cry as my dad hit him with [dreaded] punches. After he had satisfied his boiling blood, he let him go and told him to run. He ‘happily agreed’ and sped by me and my other two bros, Ken and Josh, still wailing like a mad man. Then my dad just strolled home (my sis was long in the house) as if nothing happened.
Well, that was Peter Orwa for you. Just another day in the Orwa Household!