In elementary school, a couple of girls started to bully
me. Sis tattled at home that I was
going to end up in a fight. Dad said,
"Don't fight. But if you do fight,
win!" He brought home boxing
gloves and taught my siblings and me the basics. I got pretty good at it but didn't need those skills at
school. I resolved my issues with words
and class solidarity. The only fights I
had were with my siblings, with or without boxing gloves. I guess I got a lot of practice and some
confidence.
I was in middle school when a bully slammed my face into a
gym locker. Maybe she thought it was
funny, but I didn't. When she ran past
a couple of minutes later I stuck out my foot.
She did a spectacular trip and slide into a wall of lockers. Here's a tip, don't tick off the class
bully.
She had older, meaner friends. They banded together to threaten me. As a tall girl, I looked down at the tops of their heads while
they hissed, "Your ass is grass, man!" I wondered what does that even mean? Why am I afraid of these midgets*? But there were a bunch of them and only one of me, and they were
all accomplished fighters. Fear seemed
logical.
I endured a couple weeks of torment before Sis and her
friend woke me up one morning. This
embarrassment had gone on long enough and they had arranged a one-on-one fight
for me. This sounded like a terrible
idea. They sang a ponderous Te Deum as
they marched me to my execution.
I didn't really have a problem with my bully. We always got along before. Just call off your evil friends. No.
She put up her fists and I noticed she had a giant, face smashing ring
on her finger. That hardly seemed fair. Give me a sec to go home and get the brass
knuckles. No to that too. I circled and feinted to avoid that ring but
she punched and caught my earring with it, ripping it right out of my ear. I watched my earring fly through the air and
lost it, both the earring and my sanity.
I pummeled her until I was pulled off by Sis and her
friend. Their Te Deum was replaced by a
victorious military march to the bus stop.
I almost felt sorry for my bully since she was crying and had 2
spectacular black eyes (which stayed black a long time). I knew she was abused at home and that her
cohorts were going to abuse her for losing the fight.
I achieved some respect in school. Others were afraid of these girls up till then. Good for me for winning. Nobody at school bullied me again. I felt more relieved than proud. Fighting isn't something to feel proud
about. I've often thought Dad gave me
the best advice. Don't fight. If you do, win!
Winning fights isn't all about who has more muscles. Preparation, confidence, and strategy under
fire often has a lot to do with it.
Bullies eventually lose when they underestimate their victims. It's something I think about in these crazy
times. I keep wondering who had a
father who taught them to box?
The drawing is from way back from my college anatomy class. Good muscles for boxing :)
*Apologies to little people who may be offended by my use of
this term. I used it because it was
literally the word I thought in those pre-politically correct sensitivity.
