Gang Asks Old Man to Stay out of Their Business, Next Day They Pay Their Respects to Him – Story of the Day

A group of young hoodlums told me to mind my own business after I defended a young boy. The next day, their attitudes shifted dramatically when they finally recognized who I was.

I've been a part of this small rural town in Georgia my whole life. It's a place where most folks are middle-aged, working hard to carve out comfortable lives for themselves. College was a distant dream for many of us, with most stopping their education after high school.

That often meant you either found work or found trouble.

At 86, I found myself outliving most of my peers. Loneliness could have been an issue, but I decided to get a dog for companionship. It was just me and him now, strolling through the heart of our town's busy streets, where I live.

Retirement has given me plenty of time to observe the comings and goings of our community, with my daily walks serving as both entertainment and a way to stay connected.

My children and grandchildren were states away and came when they could, but not as often as I'd like. It's been nearly a decade since I lost my wife to a terminal illness, leaving me a widower. The house feels emptier without her, but life has to go on.

One evening, while walking, my dog and I encountered a distraught woman at the gas station. "What happened? Are you alright?" I asked, concerned by her frantic appearance.

She was trembling with tears streaming down her face. "A group of rabid wolves attacked my son and took his bag while he was on his way to the gas station where I work. He managed to call from a payphone; I need to go to him," she explained, shaking.

"Where is your son now?" I asked. She pointed towards the bars downtown. I urged her to stay at the gas station, just in case the troublemakers came back, and made my way to find her son.

I found him sitting in an alley, clutching a violin case, crying quietly. "Son, are you alright? Your mom's worried sick. Let's get you back to her," I said, offering a comforting hand.

"I didn't provoke them," he confessed. "I was just walking when they drove up, mocking me for my violin. They took everything—my phone, my wallet..."

Shaking my head in disappointment, I escorted him back to his mother, promising them I'd handle the situation with those who had wronged him.

Knowing exactly who the "rabid wolves" were, I headed to the local bar's parking lot where they hung out. Confronting them, I demanded to know why they targeted a young boy.

"Who cares? Mind your own business or else you'll get it, old man," the leader of the group replied.

"Who gave you the right to hurt young boys? Pick on someone your own size," I challenged him, standing my ground despite my advanced age.

One of them stepped up, trying to loom over me. "This town's been under our watch for decades. We set the rules here, got it? Now back off before you regret it," he threatened, clearly not understanding who he was dealing with.

That night, I backed down, not for my sake but for my dog's. The thought of them hurting him was unbearable.

The next day, I returned to the parking lot alone, ready to confront them once more. "Who's in charge here?" I asked, my voice steady.

Their laughter filled the air, thinking me a mere annoyance. The so-called leader stepped forward and said, "Didn't I tell you to get lost yesterday?" He was trying to intimidate me once again.

"You're not to bully innocents or cause harm without cause," I declared firmly, meeting his gaze without faltering.

The gang laughed, and slowly gathered behind their big boss, ready to attack, but I had one more card to play. Rolling up my sleeve, I revealed a tattoo—a discolored wolf, identical to theirs.

Silence took over. "You're one of us?" the leader stammered, disbelief etched on his face.

"I'm 'Terrible Ben.' I didn't just join the gang; I created it," I corrected him, watching as he stumbled back. "The Rabid Wolves were meant to protect our town, not terrorize it. I stepped down to start a family, but I've never forgotten our true purpose. It seems you have."

The realization of their deviation from our original cause hit them hard. "I'm sorry," the leader said, humbled. "We had no idea that was the original purpose."

"I know that now," I acknowledged. "I should've kept tabs on the gang, but I wanted to leave it to the new generation. That was my mistake. I hope that you, as their leader, can do the right thing."

Surprisingly, the young man nodded. "We know how powerful the Rabid Wolves are, and we began to abuse that fact," he admitted. "I'm Marcus, and you can come to me if anyone in town is ever in trouble."

"Glad to hear that, Marcus," I nodded and shook his hand. "You can also come to me for guidance on anything. I'm old, but my wits haven't let me yet."

The rest of the boys laughed at that, and from then on, the Rabid Wolves changed. They became guardians of our town again, upholding the principles I had set out for them long ago.

Walking with my dog days later, I saw the young boy again. But something was different. He had a new violin with a wolf sticker, the same image that decorated my skin.

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