I had been doing this it seemed all my life. I would go to the backyard with a block of soft wood and my sharpened pocketknife and work problems throu...h my head. Sometimes I would just daydream. The thinking and daydreams would end when the block of wood had become a discernible object. Over the years I had become good enough that some of my wood doodlings were considered works of art.Today things were a bit different. For one thing I was in the kitchen, not the backyard. For another I was. I lived there for three weeks. The brothers who ran the camp were friends of Dad’s. Dad told the school I was off to my cousin’s farm to help out while my cousin recovered from an operation. They spent the three weeks teaching me to fight. Not karate, judo or any of that fancy stuff where you get a black belt. They taught me one thing. End the fight. Their motto was that any fight that lasted half a minute was a dance. They convinced me that there were only two reasons to fight: To protect. More

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