I am standing in the same place this photo was taken. My boy has his back to me, motionless, on this side of the blue-tarped wood pile. On the other side is a grizzly bear on its hind legs, paws up, teeth bared. As I search for a weapon unidentified people around me are telling me not to do anything, that it will be okay, but I keep looking for something to hit it with. Whiffle bat? No. Badminton racket? No. Umbrella? No. I run down to the garage and grab the push broom. I run up the hill and around the house and as I swing the broom over my head the top of the broom flies off and only the stick is left. I see the bear turn toward me, I see my boy turn toward me. I swing.