Fight or flight. Those two instinctual responses have been drilled into my head ever since those cold, hard days on the Kindergarten playground: that’s right, flight or fight. However, on this very day, March 8, 2017, I propose we add another response to the two basics. Freeze. It’s fight or flight or freeze.  

This fine late start morning, as I locked the door to my house, gave a consolation pet to the neurotic golden retriever I was leaving behind, and opened my car door (carrying ten pounds of books, binders, and other basics), I saw a strange shadow out of the corner of my eye. Instinctively, I turned toward it. And what I saw made my blood curdle.

From this strange shadow, I did not run like the cross country runner I actually am or get into the ninja defensive stance I always thought I would be really good at. No. I screamed and froze like little Mary Ford on the Kindergarten playground as Rudy the bully ran towards her. Not my finest moment, and not the finest memory to re-live.

My whole senior out scheming web (including the class periods, car make and model, and home address of my attackee) flashed before my eyes.  And then my attacker got me. They got me good, right on the shoulder, a perfect hit to my pride and self-esteem. They then asked to pet my dog. I said sure. Why not. I needed some good dog therapy right then.

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