I got into a lot of fights when I was younger . . . a LOT! Again, I never threw the first punch, but I guarantee I threw the last one most, if not all of the time! Defender of the weak . . . champion of the downtrodden . . . the bully-taker-downer!
An encounter in the seventh grade would be my last physical altercation.
I don't remember the girl's name, but the boy involved . . . Clarence . . . was not a very nice boy. For some reason he targeted this one girl, more than anyone else, almost every day for one reason or another. I really hated being a bystander . . . watching him abuse her verbally . . . but I never stepped in unless prompted in some way. Then one morning, as fate would have it, he started in on her just before class started, and she looked at me with pleading eyes.
At last . . . she asked for help . . . a silent plea . . . but plea no less!
That was all it took.
Clarence turned to defend himself, but it was too late . . . I managed to grab him by his collar with both hands . . . lifted him off his feet . . . tossed him across two rows of desks. He got up with eyes blazing, but I stood my ground and dared him . . . DARED him to hit me.
He skulked off . . .
. . . never picked on anyone else that I'm aware of either.
And no, I didn't get in trouble. Back then, unless an adult actually witnessed an event, the chance of getting into real trouble was negligible. Clarence certainly wasn't about to go tell the teacher a GIRL beat him up!
We moved at the beginning of my eighth grade . . . that's when I turned into a bit of a mouse. It wouldn't be long after that when I discovered that boys were pretty cute . . . and I no longer wanted to fight them.
No comments:
Post a Comment