When I was seventeen I taught I knew it all. I worked full time while going to H.S. I dressed better than all my Teachers. Those who did not know me taught I sold drugs, always had money and on the go. I once called on a girl I was sweet on. I was met at the door by her older sister, twenty five years old with two children and on welfare. She invited me in and told me to have a seat. Jenny would be back in a few minutes she informed me. She offered me a beer which I accepted knowing she was corrupting a minor, that wasn’t the extent of her corruption. I was in a relaxed state, she pounced on me like a octopus, putting the move on her sisters caller. Her two children played on the living room floor where we were. When the small talk was over, she told the kids to leave the room, and go to theirs. The boy played deaf, it was at this point she decided to punish him. Both kids eight and seven were active in martial arts. Like a ring master at a dog fight arena, she ordered the girl to punish the boy for not listening to her. For some reason girls are better students than boys. They squared off like the real thing, I taught that this was going to be no more than an exhibition of their skills for my entertainment. Was I ever wrong, the girl was fast and furious, with precise execution by the martial arts brown belt student which she was. With a quick flurry kicks to the head followed by precise combination to the body. At this point I was traumatized by such sponsored violence by a mother on her young son, and the teaching of brutality to her daughter. The boy began crying, this was the real thing, and this was not the first time. As the boy cried she told him to shut up and fight or she would take over the punishing. The poor child manned up and began tagging his sister with his best. He was no match for her, The girl was fierce if I was in his shoes I would have grabbed something to fend her off. I am quite sure that if he did it would have infuriated this evil woman. The more the boy cried she taunted him that she was going to take over the brutalization. The boy faught for dear life but he was no match for his sister who enjoyed her work. Even at seventeen my spirit was driven by empathy, I got up and walked out. hoping that in absence of my presence the beating would stop. I felt guilty leaving the boy in such a perilous position . Worst of all not notifying the cops, I only have my conscience my soul and my god to deal with for not reporting it to the social agency, but I was young and dumb,at seventeen.