I am NOT Batman

I just finished Batman Begins for the umpteenth time. Possibly the best Batman to date. I speak as not only a fan of the genre, I've seen all the movies, hate all the actors after Michael Keaton, and own Knightfall in it's entirety, including The Vengeance of Bane #1. I can't wait for The Dark Knight with Heath and feel Hollywood has revived the character by returning to its grass roots and pulling plots from over fifty years of development.
At one point I traveled the same rocky road that made Bruce Wayne that venerable character so woven into our pop culture. My travels, unfortunately, lead me to a myriad of state run facilities.
My training, like Bruce's, started in the Martial Arts. Mom signed me up to the YMCA for their self defense classes. Uechi Ru is one of those arts that prefers you not fight. Should the occasion to defend yourself arise, well sure, rip out the offender's throat, but first try not to fight. For those of us who were tormented by bullies, you know how that goes. I quit after going for two years and only achieving a yellow belt.

I needed to learn the art of death. I was consumed with the idea of killing my brother. (Think of the worst bully you've ever known, square that, and multiply it by pi, that's my brother). So I found a studio in the town square that had Nun Chucks, butterfly knives, and pointed metal stars, hanging in the window. Fred Villari's School of Self Defense was the answer. They sold weapons. Surely they taught you how to use them. I didn't need the tour or the complimentary lesson, I just needed Mom to write a check.

I attended every class, climbed the ranks, yellow, orange, blue, green, green stripe, brown, brown stripe. I bought every book I could find on the arts and studied them all. My favorite was on Ninjitsu, the art of assassination. It even had an order form for an authentic Ninja uniform in the back. I filled it out and anxiously awaited its delivery.

It came riddled with pockets and drawstrings. The hood came in three separate pieces. It was so authentic I had to bring it to class and ask Sensei Cal to show me how to put it on. Clad in the uniform, facing my bad ass, assassin self in the mirror, I decided to take it out for a test run. I consulted the book one last time and memorized the more important points: Blend. Remain unseen. Never cast a human shadow. And leave no witnesses.

I took to the streets, draped myself in the shadows, calmed my lifelong fear of the dark, and headed to Grossman's to steal some wood. We thugs had every tradition every Halloween. After we spent the night searching for someone to buy us a pony keg, we mounted a cross atop the First Hill overlooing the school, and set it ablaze. I should note, we did this for attention, (no one pays much mind to a docile cross. But light it on fire...) Cops and fire trucks showed up. We grabbed the keg, ran away, and returned to a pile of smoldering, stolen two by fours.

I did pretty good moving through yards, ducking out of view, and getting there undetected. What I didn't plan for was the thirty foot high fence, cameras, and the fact that the wood was fifty shades brighter than my suit. I lost my motivation to remain concealed halfway home when I realized it was useless. A police cruiser caught me scurrying across Main Street, traditions fell by the wayside after my arrest. I quit Fred Villari's after I bought a quarter pound of weed with the money my mother gave me for private lessons. I tried to sell it but ended up fronting myself the majority.

I still owe myself seven hundred bucks.