The Conflict.

The Conflict.

June 3, 2012

Adorned in a black and white fitted dress, wedge heels and a pearl necklace and earring set from New York’s, Brooklyn Mall.  I felt sharp.  My nails were neatly manicured, my face wore a proud smile.  It had been an iconic weekend.  One even history could not repeat.

Just two days prior, I had completed one of my most applauded ventures;  graduating a high school senior.  Why is this a ”BIG DEAL”, well considering the just two months earlier she was a Foster Child and a high school drop out.  Finishing on time and being accepted into the University at age 17, proved to be a feat.

It’s Memorial Day 2012.  Having just returned from the Hartsfield International Airport at 6:00 am to pick up my other daughter, the 1st high school graduate, who had been returning from her study abroad trip in Liberia, Africa.  I was walking on sunshine, and as the song says…it felt good.


So just how did my day get infiltrated with rage.  Who did I allow to get me to engage.  Who was I weak enough to follow into battle.  Our fully grown selves being transported back into our teenage selves.  Well it wasn’t a church member I’ll tell you that.

It’s off to the church picnic again this year.  Grant Park was not nearly as jam packed as last year.  We actually took a parking space close to the smoking grill, but not close enough to hear the fish frying.  It’s 4:30 in the evening now and we have to take one of our guest to meet their parent.

Whipping in to the mall parking lot a close 5 minutes behind the scheduled meeting time.  We park a near 50 yards from the meeting place.  This is on purpose.  Not because I like to walk, although, I don’t mind much but because I am expecting a conversation, notice I did not use the word altercation, although the police told me that in the insist of fighting, they can be considered one in the same.

I invited a conversation about cooperation and one party working to be less vindictive and be more responsible as it is in the best interest of all parties.  Maybe, I used words that were considered confrontational, I call it being honest, but honesty is subjective.  I guess…

She responded with an invitation for a physical altercation.  I declined.  It went something like this:


She steps of the curb that gave her two more inches height advantage and onto the asphalt, where she still stood a towering 3 inches above me.  She walked into my quote, “personal space” and stopped only when she meet me nose to nose.  She sneered in an attempt to intimidate me.  Trouble is, Queen had trained me  for combat so I am not easily intimidated.  I had walked alongside the battlefield with Queen many of times and returned victorious so in short, I knew I could take her.  So, I snickered stepped back and gestured the, not a good idea gesture.  And there it goes, the missed opportunity I spoke about in yesterdays blog post.  I knew she was looking for a fight and a more savvy, adult, prosperous and motivated Sharon was not looking to give her one.  But Queen, well, you should have been there.

The hit came in the form of a pound on the left top side of my head, not hard enough to make me see stars but not light enough to make it seem a mistake.  In fact, it was deliberate.  As, deliberate as a bird taking flight when it spots a worm struggling to disappear into the dirt.  I wished, I could have disappeared, and as wishes sometimes come true.  I did.  Queen must be a ghost that see’s all, because miraculously she knew to appear.  The best visual I can give is that of a horse race.  The announcer raises their hand as she did hers, the gun is fired into the air, (symbolizing the strike to the head) and the gates are released open for the horses to run, and they run, hard, with might and each horse is expecting to win. 

Tomorrows Post:  Bullying or Bull (you decide)

Return. Post. Blog. Tweet. share. Facebook. There truly is a message behind the messenger.






About sharonsaffold

Motivational Speaker, Spokesperson, Published Author
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