My father was a fighter, my grandfather was a fighter, and so on and so forth. The genetic trait to engage combat had been passed down from family member to family member. Generation after generation. Finding its host to be me.
My Grandfather, at one point the eldest of all the family, wrapped his own wounds while leading a platoon of men through the Vietnam brushes of hell. He was a tough American soldier serving twenty-two years as a Gunnery Sergeant of the United States Marine Corps. He also served seven years in the Navy. His aggression for war speak through his reputation.
The Native American descendent towered the sky demanding respect, asserting his power, and broadly laughing at the face of danger. I would remember, he would use his index finger to indicate the target, laughing deeply. "Hit them right between the eyes." Grandfather would say to every obstacle that came across the path of my life. "Take a deep breath and put the target between the crosshairs. You only have one shot. Make this shot count."
During my early years of life, I was given a defiant condition of the mind. This mental condition had been developed by my family to fight, to stand before any challenge that came across the path of my life. What I have been known to have has been developed by school yard bullies looking to make a meal of my small stature. I was the shortest kid of the age group. The kid that was least expected to win, less likely to succeed on the playground. This affliction, or I must address is to be a strained gift, is better known as Napoleon Complex. This combative behavior had compensated for my lack of height, my miniature size self, growing my aggression in conflicts.
As a kid, I had always seen the tall, the big, as a threat and a challenge. For the situation's I came across ended me fighting a bigger kid. I was a victim of bullyism. Discovering the predator of bullies at an early age grew my aggression for the big. They all towered over my small stature. They all saw me as prey. A small victim that was a meal for the big. However, having a father who was once a man of the ring, he quickly saw that I had the potential skill of defending myself.
Overcoming a challenge had been the greatest feeling ever to fill me. No emotion could arouse my soul, except making the enemy choose defeat. The challenge of growing over the odds, because I was least expected, less likely to succeed, created this Napoleoon complex. The referred complex was named after a French General, Napoleon Bonaparte, who was the emperor of the French from 1804- 1814. The general was short, and had a big boot to fill, leading him to attain an over aggressive behavior. And with this "Napoleon complex," I have been known to be a small dog with a big bite. This disorder I was given since early age made me prove my being time after time. I feel I must make my presence known because I'm smaller than the rest, and that presence be for fight.
As I was the eldest sibling of four, I had a manner of guidance that grew over me. This effect of guidance had been developed by my father and family, giving life to the Man I am today.
"Keep an eye on your brother's and sister."
Father would lecture while teaching me the basic punches to defend myself, before sending the four of us siblings off to elementary school. Mother had just powdered her milky complected cheeks of her Spaniard background, settling out for work, earning the family much needed income. She fed the household and kissed our family individually goodbye, every morning, becoming the Saint she is today. I, and people about the family life, could never understand how she managed to be as strong as she is, observing her three son's she loved dearly endure fight.
As I would guide my younger sidings through the suburban streets, brushing our walk past the peril of Southern California, developing the stance I have today. I felt I wasn't allowed to show fear. I was the eldest of four. That meant I must be the leader, the role model, the teacher, the lead man and the anchor man. The captain of our family vessel. For I felt my father and family would cause dismay to the weak, ridding of the weakest link. So, as a kid, as an adult, I fought because I desired to impress my sired name: Franco
As usual, my bullies struggled to peal themselves off the hot asphalt of the Southern California school yard setting; I was no longer seen as prey, instead, I was seen as a new friend with excellent skill in fight. I would become the new kid with a fierce reputation. But when the family relocated in the Southern California geography multiple times, each time it meant I had to reestablish myself. To make new friends, I fight.