In a quiet rural town in Georgia, life was simple but tough. Most people worked hard just to live comfortably. College was a dream for many—they either went straight to work after high school or ended up in jail.
Amid this small-town routine lived Ben, an 86-year-old man who had seen the town change through the decades. Most of his old friends had already passed, and his wife, the love of his life, had died ten years ago. That left Ben with only his loyal dog for daily company.
Every day, Ben and his dog walked through the town’s busiest streets. He liked knowing what was happening in the community, and his walks gave him something to do. Sometimes, his kids and grandchildren visited, but they lived far away, so their visits were rare.
One evening, while on one of his walks, Ben ran into a woman who looked terrified. Her eyes were red, her hands trembling.
“What happened? Are you alright?” Ben asked gently.
The woman’s voice shook as she spoke. “A group of… of ‘rabid wolves’… they harassed my son and stole his bag! He called me from a payphone—he’s scared! I need to go to him.”
Ben’s expression hardened. He already knew who she meant. In this town, everyone knew the group that called themselves the Rabid Wolves.
“Where’s your son now?” Ben asked.
She pointed nervously toward the part of town near the bars.
“Stay here, at the gas station,” Ben told her firmly. “I’ll go to him.”
When Ben reached the area, he found the boy in an alley, clutching a violin case to his chest and crying.
“Son, are you alright? Your mother’s worried sick,” Ben said softly. “Come on, I’ll take you back to her.”
The boy wiped his tears. “I didn’t do anything. I was just walking with my violin… then they pulled up in a car, started laughing at me, and took my bag. My phone and wallet were in it.”
Ben shook his head in disappointment. “Don’t worry. They won’t bother you—or anyone else—again.”
He took the boy back to his mother, who hugged him tightly. Ben then turned and walked toward the local bar’s parking lot, where he knew the Rabid Wolves liked to hang out.
When he confronted them, their leader sneered. “Who cares? Mind your own business, old man, or you’ll get it.”
Ben stood tall. “Who gave you the right to hurt children? Pick on someone your own size.”
One of the gang members stepped close, glaring. “Listen, old man. We’ve been here for decades. We do what we want, talk how we want. Now walk away before you get hurt.”
Ben decided to leave that night. Not because he was afraid—but because his dog was with him. He couldn’t risk them harming his faithful companion.
The very next day, Ben returned—this time without the dog. He walked straight into the parking lot where the gang lounged.
“Who’s in charge here?” Ben asked, his voice steady.
The gang burst out laughing. “This old man’s crazy,” one snickered.
A big, broad-shouldered man stepped forward. “I’m the leader. Didn’t I tell you yesterday to get lost?”
Ben didn’t flinch. “From now on, you’re not to touch innocent kids—or anyone who’s done nothing to you.”
The gang roared with laughter again, closing in on him. But Ben calmly rolled up his sleeve.
The laughter stopped instantly. Silence fell over the parking lot.
On Ben’s shoulder was a faded tattoo: the image of a snarling wolf. It was the exact same tattoo every member of the gang had.
The leader’s eyes widened. “Wait… you’re part of the gang?”
Ben stared straight at him. “I’m not part of the gang. I made the gang. I’m ‘Terrible Ben.’ The founder of the Rabid Wolves.”
The big leader stumbled back, his tough act slipping.
Ben’s voice grew firm. “I created the Rabid Wolves decades ago—to protect this town. To fight crime. To stop outsiders from hurting our people. I didn’t build it for bullies like you to pick on children. I retired when I got older, but I never forgot the code. Seems to me—you’re the ones who forgot.”
The leader lowered his head, ashamed. “I… I’m sorry. We lost our way. We knew how feared the Wolves were, and we abused it.”
From that day on, the gang changed. The Rabid Wolves stopped harassing people and started protecting the community again—just like in the old days.
Weeks later, as Ben was walking with his dog, he spotted the boy with his violin. This time, the boy carried a new instrument. Stuck to its case was a small sticker—a wolf, just like the tattoo on Ben’s arm.
The boy grinned when he saw him. “Thanks, Mr. Ben,” he said softly.
Ben only smiled, giving a small nod.
Lessons from the Story:
- Encourage kids to follow their passions. The boy was bullied for loving the violin, but passion is something that should be celebrated, not mocked.
- Don’t judge by appearances. The gang thought Ben was just a frail old man—until they learned he was the very founder of the group they respected.