What Were They Thinking?
16 Power, Strength, and Fear
IT REALLY WASN’T that difficult. Once basketball season started, I simply picked up Brian in the morning so he and Whitney could train during before-school fitness time. The days were long, but if she and Brian could withstand the pressure of training in the martial arts at the same time they were practicing basketball, I was willing to add a couple of hours to my day. It became my routine to drop the two at school at six-thirty and then join Dave for breakfast. Occasionally, that meant joining him in bed. Life was good.
Until a month before Whitney’s sixteenth birthday.
Being early risers, Whitney and I tended to be lights-out and asleep by ten. I’d picked up the galleys for a new book we were producing on home financing and sat in bed glancing at the formula for computing PITI just to see if my recollection was correct before I turned out the light. I think I must have let my eyes drift shut because the next thing I knew hands ripped my nightgown and I heard a growl of ‘wifely duties.’ The smell of booze and cigarettes was overpowering and I thought I must be dreaming and having a flashback to the days when I was married.
But when I opened my eyes, the cold reality of my ex-husband, Derek, was staring at me and reaching to maul my breasts.
I screamed. He hit me. I screamed some more. He hit me in the stomach and twisted an arm behind me as I struggled to reach the phone to dial 9-1-1.
“Hey, what’s going on. Leave my mother alone!” I heard Whitney yell as she came through my bedroom door. Derek jerked away from me to look at Whitney. I don’t think it registered that she was his daughter. He just saw another tall beautiful woman and reached to grab her.
I never knew.
I never knew what it really meant to have Whitney train with Master Cho. I saw how it made her confident, how she stood up straight and proud, how she performed on the basketball court. I never realized how strong and powerful and fast it made her.
I don’t think Derek knew what hit him. I heard bones break with every punch. And then she threw him out—through—my second-floor bedroom window. When the glass finished tinkling to the floor, Whitney was simply standing at the foot of my bed, staring at her hands. I jumped from my bed to comfort my daughter. I hugged her to me, even though she was taller than me now.
“You’d better call 9-1-1, Mommy,” she whispered. “I think I might have killed him.”
Police and ambulances arrived. I called Dave and he called a lawyer he knew. Whitney and I were transported to St. Joe Memorial. Derek was taken to the County Hospital under police guard. We were treated for minor trauma, bruises, and my arm was put in a sling to rest the shoulder he’d twisted. We were released to the police to make statements about what happened. The lawyer conferred with the police and a detective came into the room holding a copy of the doctor’s report and his crime scene notes. We were exhausted. The attack had been before midnight and it was already getting light outside.
“We’ve established the point of entry was a broken lock on your back door, Ms. Anderson. I’m surprised the noise didn’t wake you. When did you first realize your home had been invaded?”
“When he grabbed me and jerked me toward him ripping my nightgown.”
“And your response?”
“I struggled and screamed. He hit me… I don’t know how many times. I reached for the phone to call the police and he twisted my arm behind my back.”
“And that is when your daughter attacked him?”
“Just a minute, detective,” a new voice said. “Jackie Richmond, CPS. Do you have evidence that suggests this minor attacked someone?” She pushed the detective out of the way.
“A man has broken bones, a severe concussion, and was thrown out an upstairs window. I don’t think the wind blew him there,” the detective growled. “I’m not making accusations. It was a clear home defense. I just want to know what happened.”
“Then ask what happened without implying that you know something you don’t.” Jackie turned to Whitney and whispered to her. Whitney nodded. “Let’s just ask what happened, okay?” she said to the detective and my lawyer.
“Miss Anderson, will you tell us what happened from your perspective?” the detective asked with a nod to Jackie.
“Um… I heard my mommy scream and jumped out of bed. I’d been pretty deep asleep and it took me a minute to realize what was going on when I walked into the room. I yelled something. That man grabbed my shoulder and ripped my T-shirt. I hit him. He fell out the window.”
“Has your father attacked you before?”
“I don’t know my father. He left when I was little.”
“So, you were not aware that it was your father, Derek Dewalt, that you…” Jackie held up a warning finger. “That you defended yourself from?”
“No, sir. Was that who it was? He was just a man hitting my mother and attacking me.” The detective hung his head and sighed but wasn’t finished.
“Whitney Anderson, are you trained in the martial arts?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever used them to defend yourself or in a fight of any kind before this?”
“No, sir.”
“I think that’s all.” The detective gathered up his notes and turned to leave the room. “It is clear that this was both home defense and self-defense. Your response might have been a bit extreme, but under the circumstances understandable. Unless Ms. Anderson’s ex-husband makes some other claims, I don’t believe Miss Anderson will be needed for more than a statement. We have contacted New Jersey authorities and Mr. Dewalt is in violation of parole by leaving the State. I’ll discuss our action with the District Attorney to determine what charges we will be able to file and make stick. I’m pretty sure that after the State of Indiana is through with him, there will be a prison term. Following that, he’ll be returned to New Jersey to serve out the rest of his term there. Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Richmond.” He left.
Jackie had a quick conference with the lawyer and he agreed to get us processed out as we talked to Jackie.
“In a case like this it is not uncommon for us to place a minor in protective custody until we can determine that it is safe for her to return home,” she said. “We need to be certain that the homelife is not abusive and that she is properly cared for. Whitney, do you feel you are in danger or under duress if you are returned to your mother’s guardianship and sent home?”
“I love my mommy,” she whimpered. “Please don’t make me go someplace else. I’m safe with her.”
“Based on Whitney’s demonstrated abilities to defend herself and her mother and based on the obvious love and care I see between the two of you, I am going to rule Whitney safe in the care of her mother and send you home. You’re both exhausted. If there is someone you can stay with for a few days while you get your home repaired, you should do so and get some rest.”
That was how, for the first time, Whitney and I spent the night at Dave’s house.
He was waiting for us when the attorney told us we could leave now and we drove to our little bungalow. Whitney and I were still in the hospital scrubs they’d given us to replace our torn nightwear. We changed clothes and Dave got the broken window boarded up. He went to Ace and got a hasp and padlock for the broken back door lock. There wasn’t much other damage to the house, though a glass had been knocked off the counter and broken on the floor. That was probably the result of the police and medics who came in.
I saw something change in Whitney. She spent the next day with Master Cho and the following morning with Brian. She became more serious as summer drew nearer. I often caught her just staring at her hands.
“Honey, don’t let what happened pull you down from your happiness. You could destroy what you have with your dating group and you don’t want that. Do you want to see the counselor Jackie recommended?”
“Mom, if the same thing happened today, I would respond the same way. I never realized exactly how powerful Brian’s mantra was. It scares me a little now that I know what it really means.” What? I expected her to quote Master Cho, she’d been doing that for years now. But her student? Her ‘boyfriend’?
“What is Brian’s mantra?” I asked.
“I will do whatever is necessary to protect and defend the ones I love.” I looked at my daughter with a new understanding. She wasn’t finished yet. “I’m sixteen now, Mom. When I turn seventeen, I will make love to Brian. Don’t go planning a wedding. Brian is the love of my life but I’m only one of his. I am teaching Brian because I love him. This is what I can do to protect and defend him.”
If it weren’t for Dave, I don’t think I could have coped with her going off to prom just after her seventeenth birthday and not coming home that night. I wanted my six-foot-three-inch daughter to still be my baby. But I was so proud of her. The morning after, she called me to let me know she was okay. Just like she always did.
“Mommy, I just wanted to let you know I’m fine.”
“I’m so glad you called, honey. Was it… as good as you hoped?”
“So good. Thank you so much for letting me be free to do this.”
“Are you coming home now?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll come home today.”
“Once is never enough. You want to do it again.”
“And again and again. I’m in love, Mother.”
“I love you, my little girl. Remember you can always call if you need anything at all.”
“Yes. I understand. I’ll let you know. I have clothes for school tomorrow.”
“Okay, honey. Enjoy your day. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Whitney hung up the phone.
“My little girl is all grown up,” I sobbed into Dave’s chest. “My baby.”
Dave held me, kissed me, made love to me, fed me. And then we heard about Denise’s death.
I began to pray. I’d never been overly religious. I believe in God and called myself a Christian but I didn’t attend a church regularly. But that night I joined all the other parents in prayer for our children.
And I prayed that Whitney would not forever associate the night she made love the first time with the night her friend was murdered.
“Marilyn, I believe Master Cho when he says they can do this. Whitney has worked with Brian every day they can be together for almost four years. Your son has shown repeatedly how devoted he is to his friends. They can do this.”
“You saw what he looked like when we brought Hannah back from Evansville,” Marilyn responded. “He was a mess. I don’t want to see him like that again.”
“You also saw or heard what the assailant in Evansville looked like afterward. He can take care of himself.”
“I don’t want him to hurt Whitney either.”
I’d never argued with Marilyn Frost. She was a driving force among the parents of the dating group. A group that now called themselves a clan organized into various houses. How our children had come together and formed this family that was all determined to go off to Indiana University together was beyond our control. Even beyond my comprehension. Whitney and Brian were both eighteen and technically didn’t need our permission to demonstrate their martial arts skills to the school. It had come about rather suddenly when one of the boys in the group was outed as being gay. Whitney told me there were others, as well. It was unfortunate that we didn’t have more time to prepare for this.
“Janet, I trust you and I trust Master Cho. But most of all, I trust Brian and Whitney. I don’t want to see it. But I know they need our support. And the other parents. We should make a showing. Not just the casas or the clan but the entire tribe.”
“I knew I could count on you and Hayden. We should go over to the school and sign the release and waiver of liability.”
“Now that puts a mother’s mind at rest.”
I sat with Dave on my left and Marilyn on my right behind our children. When they’d filed in, it was impressive. Gis in red, blue, green, yellow, and white with matching belts. Coach Hancock introducing another coach, both dressed in red gis with black belts. And then Master Cho. I thought back over the past ten years and not once had he asked Whitney to wear a gi. True to form, he wore a Hawaiian shirt and board shorts. The house gis were different than the coaches’ gis. The jackets were much longer. I knew that when Brian and Whitney did their demonstration, they would remove the jackets. They simply weren’t cut for fighting.
Coach Phillips and Master Cho did a demonstration round sparring as well. I’d been impressed when Whitney had beaten Derek two years ago. She seemed so fast. But the two masters flew at each other with a speed that was unfathomable. I was certain Master Cho would be flattened by the much bigger former Marine. But such was not the case. Coach Phillips made an attack and simply ended up on his back on the floor. Master Cho stood over him like a rock.
Then it was time for our children, Brian and Whitney. I had not watched them work out together. I’d never watched Whitney work with Master Cho. I knew she was sometimes bruised, but not appreciably more than when she’d been playing boys’ basketball. I didn’t expect anything spectacular from the two kids—certainly not like I’d seen from the coach and Master Cho. They started slowly, measuring each other and reflecting each other’s moves. Almost as if responding to a cue, the action sped to double the speed or more. The gym was silent as we all watched the exhibition and heard the contact made between the two. And it didn’t end. It sped up more. What we were seeing was as expertly carried out as what we’d witnessed with the two masters.
There was an electric power behind their strikes and surrounding the two as they battled for over fifteen minutes.
I remembered when I was in high school that famous heavyweight Muhammed Ali had knocked out Sonny Liston in their second fight with a phantom punch that no one saw. What I saw that afternoon was my daughter gather herself and strike at Brian’s chest. I never saw the blow land. I just saw Brian hit the floor. He was slow getting up but made his way to the center of the mats and bowed to his master as she returned his bow.
I should have been relieved when they all moved to the ranch Anna Pratt had purchased for them. I was proud, certainly. They had stepped into an adult role that was far beyond their years. Whitney continued to call me every Friday night. The first week they were in school, I found there had been an altercation at the ranch but ‘Brian and I handled it. Everything is fine now.’
During my time as parent volunteer the summer they remodeled the barn, I found that Brian and Whitney were leading everyone in forms. Some of the kids were doing quite well. Later that year, Coach Hancock started Tai Chi as an organized after-school activity. He asked Master Cho to teach the classes and the old man led the kids with calm and peaceful exercise. Few parents knew that the placid exercises were the foundation of a lethal art.
Dave and I went to Bloomington or other venues as often as we could when Whitney was playing basketball. Then in the spring of her junior year was the terrible campus shooting.
I won’t recap how devastating it was to the clan to lose one and have four others wounded. It took a long time for Brian to return to anything resembling his former leadership. I think it was only the birth of his daughter that truly brought him back.
But the major difference that I saw was in Whitney. She had turned the tables. Where she had been master and Brian disciple, she now deferred to Brian as her master. It had something to do with that shooting and what Brian had done.
It was too bad there was no place for Whitney to take her love of basketball. She could have been in the pros, but there was no Title IX for women’s professional sports. It was all about money. I suppose it was only logical that she would follow her love of martial arts.
I never knew fear the way I experienced it on June 1, 1994 when my daughter was sworn into the United States Marines. For fifteen years from that moment, I knelt by my bed each night and prayed for the safety of my daughter.
She was the model of strength that Marines were known for. She had inner power that had her moving from position to position around the world, training servicemen and women as MPs, commanding the Marines who were embassy guards, chasing pirates and traffickers through the Horn of Africa, building a base of operations and managing the POWs of the war in Afghanistan and Iraq.
And every day, I had the fear that my prayers would not be enough to bring her home safely.
End Part II
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