My first fist fight
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I remember feeling almost sick to my stomach when I realized there was no escape.
If my memory serves me correctly, I was about 13 years old when I found myself cornered in the boys bathroom at a school dance. My opponent was an older kid with a real mean streak — let’s call him Knuckles.
“Hey Paré, I hear you wanna go me,” my challenger said in a mocking tone.
The guy was a real jerk and had been making my first year in junior high tough. Earlier in the evening, I had been shooting my mouth off, bragging that I could probably take Knuckles in a brawl, despite the fact that I had never been in a fight and the guy outweighed me by a good 60 pounds.
Now I was standing across the room from him, his big ape-like body between me and the only exit.
Talking my way out wasn’t an option — you can’t reason with people like Knuckles.
A small crowd was already gathering to witness the action, so chickening out would have been certain social suicide.
I was clearly in a ‘punch or be punched’ situation, and I felt my knees wobbling with terror.
Then Knuckles stepped forward.
It was on.
I balled my fist, reached back and wheeled around with all my might, catching my adversary somewhere in the cheek area.
For a moment I was elated, because action movies had always shown me that one solid blow to the head was all it took to knock someone unconscious. My elation disappeared when Knuckles only flinched momentarily and continued coming.
The following seconds were a blur of frantic flailing, which ended with me laying on the bathroom floor, Knuckles sitting on my chest happily wailing away on my face.
When it was over, I climbed to me feet, tears streaming down my aching face. I remember feeling angry I’d lost, but happy I’d survived. Fighting no longer seemed so glamorous and I obviously wasn’t cut out for it.
Knuckles and I left it there. There was no grudge, no rematch. In fact, we shook hands a few days later.
I certainly do not promote fighting, but most of us been faced with a potentially violent confrontation at some point. For teenage boys, it seems to be part of the maturation process, a right of passage even.
The problem these days is that fights often don’t end at fists. We read story after story about kids exacting revenge on their enemies with guns, bats and knives, sometimes with tragic results. Kids, particularly young males, sometimes see violence as the first outlet for these emotions, so in addition to discouraging violence, parents should be teaching their children how to cope with the rage and frustration.
You can lose a fight or an argument with dignity.
The wimps are the ones who can’t let go.
