Defender of the weak and helpless.
Champion of the underfed.
Wearing checkerboard slippers and long striped apron.
Armed with a spatula and a brightly coloured tea towel.
And I probably looked as silly as that sounds,
But I didn't have time to put my shoes on or take off my apron, and I forgot to put down the towel before I went charging across the street to the Curling Rink parking lot where I observed a ring of boys watching another boy push yet another boy to the ground and start pummeling him with a clenched fist.
By the time I got there the punching had stopped and the taunting game of keep away with the ball cap had nearly concluded.
I told them, first of all, to restore the boy's hat.
Then I told them, in no uncertain terms, that this was unacceptable behaviour.
NO MORE I said.
I don't know if it will make a difference, but I can't stand a bully, and seeing those pushes and punches made me see red.
At least one gang of little boys (I judged them to be around 9 or 10) know there'll be no violence tolerated within eyesight of the cranky little lady in the white house on the corner.
And at least one little boy knows someone's watching out for him.