For a first-grader, life is full of first-time lessons. One important lesson, often learned the hard way, is justice. Cold, hard and righteous.
Coupled with justice is the sometimes brutal reality that not all people are nice. Until this point in your life, you may have been disciplined for the errant swear word or two, but nothing too long lasting.
But then, there are also bullies. Back in the first grade classroom of Mrs. Swanson was a bully named Bryan. For the sake of anonymity, let’s refer to him as “Bryan X.”
By first grade standards, Bryan X was a big kid. Taller, broader, stronger, meaner and uglier than most.
Take, for example, his teeth. He is the only person I have ever met that had orange teeth. Hand-to-God…orange teeth. Even then, with my sarcasm in its infancy, I remember thinking his teeth always looked like he had just finished eating a bag of nasty Chee-tos.
Blame it on the orange teeth, his pigeon toes or the fact he was a slob…But Bryan X was a bully. He liked to pick on kids before school, at recess and after school. Largely, he left me alone.
But, as most bullies do, he made his rounds to just about everybody who would let him get away with antics. Which, as the fickle finger of fate would have it, brought him, eventually, to me. I remember it well, in fact.
In those early West Elementary years, I would always walk a block and a half down Sharp Street to my Dad’s body shop after school and hang out. I remember that when I arrived, I would empty the garbage in the office and a couple other places and my Dad’s business partner, Dwight, would give me 50 cents for the pop machine and let me take the three o’clock break with the rest of the guys. I was big stuff.
On this particular day, I was walking down the sidewalk on my way to the body shop, passing by the playground when Bryan X and his pack of goons jumped me. They were kind of his cheering section – didn’t really do anything just huddled around you while he did his thing. Thankfully for me, it was winter and I was padded pretty well. There was little long-term damage done.
Somehow, I escaped from their villainous clutches and they chased me all the way to the body shop. Like Indiana Jones escaping from a band of wild cannibals, I dove through the door, slammed it shut just in the nick of time.
It wasn’t long and my Dad asked me, “What’s wrong with you?"
I retold the story of my harrowing escape and near miss.
“You know you can fight back, right?”
Actually, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Nobody had ever tried to beat me up before.
In fact, the whole thing was kind of like a baby learning to walk. The first time you fall flat on your face, the thought may never cross your mind to use your hands to break your fall. But you can bet your boots the second time you fall, you’ll remember. So it is with bullies.
“Yeah,” my Dad continued. “The next time he picks on you, hit him back…”
And the next part I remember like it was yesterday. “…but make sure you take your gloves off first.”
No worries, mate. I can do that.
I spent that night plotting my revenge. Armed with little more than my twirpy right-hook and a righteous sense of justice I was going to pay Bryan X back.
Now at this point I should say this. As I've recalled this story through the years, I now realize my Dad was not telling me to go and start a fight. He was simply telling me, if I ever found myself in a fight, I could fight back.
However, that is not how interpreted the conversation at the time.
The next day, outside of West Elementary, walking down the sidewalk, by the buses and the playground, on my way down to Sharp Street Auto Body, I saw Bryan X lumbering his way down the sidewalk.
I picked up the pace to catch up with him…and slipped the glove from my right hand. This was going to be a sneak attack. Doorah style.
“Hey Bryan, wait up,” I shouted. Bryan X stopped and looked back.
“What?” Like some kind of knuckle-dragging Neanderthal he responded with a grunt.
“I was talking to my dad last night and he wanted me to give you something.”
"What?” He again asked with a grunt.
We came to a stop on the sidewalk, looking at each other. I cocked back and punched him directly in the face.
He stepped back, not quite stumbling. He stood there for a brief second, in shock at what had just happened. Then he lunged at me.
As I said before, Bryan X was a big kid. So when he lunged at me, I considered the point made and ran like hell for the safety of the body shop.
Not exactly Frazier - Ali, but I can say that Bryan X never picked on me again.
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