Strife

I didn't want to fight.  I have never "wanted" to fight.  Not in the "Two people giving each other a physical beating" sort of way.

I wanted to laugh.  I wanted to make jokes.  I've mentioned before that in my early naivety, I would make jokes at other people's expense and was surprised that they didn't think it was funny too.

I don't know that the fight started from something in particular I had said or done.  I doubt it.  I think it was more of a general consensus from some of the classmates that if Jimmy and I fought, Jimmy would lose.  Jimmy's dad was kind of a biker dude.  He came across to me as a real badass.  I wonder if some conversation happened between Jimmy and his dad that made Jimmy think he needed to fight me.

None of that matters.  Jimmy had been talking for a while about how he was going to kick my ass.  I was completely mystified.  We had been friends for about 5 years (we were in the fifth grade).  There were three of us who were often described as the 3 smartest children to ever attend that little grade school.  Jimmy, Stephen and me.

Stephen was my best friend.  Jimmy was just this funny toehead who had a biting edge to his humor.  Certainly a little rougher around the edges than the rest of us with our looney tunes jokes.

When Jimmy let me know he wanted to fight me, I was scared.  I didn't know what to do.  I told him I didn't want to fight.  In a way - it was the first time for me that I questioned why life had to be the way it did.  Rodney King had not yet said it, but I was thinking, "Why can't we all just get along?"

But to some people, fighting was no big deal.  It was just something to do.

"What a pussy!"  Jimmy said, looking around at everyone who nodded in confirmation at my hesitation to start punching him.  Now I was horrified, but I thought I had just been given an out.  If being afraid to fight someone means you're a "pussy,"  whatever that is, I'll take it!  Yippee! I win.  Problem solved.  Whew!  Ok, guys.  Are we square?  I think we've all learned a valuable lesson from this.  Jimmy is not a pussy and I am.  Ok, I'll just go on home now.

"Hey faggot!  Where are you going?"  Oh crap.  Now I'm also a faggot, whatever that is.  Well I was happy with one disparaging title, but now I was not so sure.  There might be several names to endure if I stick with this whole "not getting into fights," thing.

So I walked the 2 blocks to home with my head down as Jimmy and some others yelled at my cowardice from the other side of the street.  They were not really allowed to go that way because they lived the other way and the safety patrols kind of monitored that stuff.  They would report you if you went the wrong way.  Nobody wanted to get "reported."    

You would also get reported if you were fighting on school grounds.  So I was safe because my street to cross was attached to school grounds.

But the derision from classmates increased as the next couple of weeks went by.  Stephen was in my corner.  In fact, Stephen would refuse to fight anyone as well.  We went around saying we were pussies.  But for whatever reason, nobody was giving Stephen any crap.  I think it was because I was taller than everyone.  I was something for Jimmy to prove.

I started losing sleep over it.  Dreading going to school.  Finally, I went to the one person I knew who knew about fighting.  I explained it all to my dad, but mom was listening.

Mom, bless her dear heart, said, "We need to talk to the boy's parents."

"Shhh," dad said, gently raising a hand to mom,  "That is exactly what we don't need to do.  If we do that, Freddie's problems will only be beginning.  It's a school yard fight.  Nobody will get hurt, but it has to happen or it won't end."

In the movie, "The Godfather" A dying Vito Corleone explains to his son what will happen as the other families plot against the Corleones.  He has so much experience, he can accurately describe how everything will go and what will be the aftermath.

My dad doesn't know the olive oil import/export business, but he does know about how childhood fights go.  It was amazing.

"Listen son.  I've been in a lot of fights.  I've won some and I've lost some,"  Then he winked to my mom.  I didn't know yet, but he had taken it upon himself to violently avenge all of his losses.

"I'm scared.  I don't want to fight anyone.  I didn't do anything."

"I know you didn't.  Fighting is stupid.  There's never a reason.  It just happens.  And I'll tell you a secret.  Jimmy is scared too.  More afraid than you."

Now I thought my dad was insane.  I began to think he didn't know what he was talking about.  He could see my skepticism and said, "How often do you look at other kids and wonder who would win in a fight between you and them?"

"Never,  Why would I ..."

"I know.  But Jimmy's not like that.  He looks around and sees someone he thinks can beat him up and he gets scared.  That's why he picked a fight with you.  He wanted you to back down.  He will continue to bother you until you fight him.  But everybody is scared to fight.  Either that or they are crazy.  The fear ends once the fight starts, then it's just crazy."

"But if he beats me up, it will be worse."

"No.  It doesn't matter who wins.  As long as you stand up and fight him, it will end.  You will be friends again."

Now I knew my dad was crazy.  That didn't make any sense.  There was a lot I needed to learn about the world.

"But I don't know how to fight.  I don't know what to do,"  I told Dad.  

Exhaling heavily, knowing he was going to take some heat from Mom, he said, "Well we should probably take care of that, then."

The first thing he did was explain how the fight would start and what to do next.  Then he taught me how to punch.

"What is your strongest hand?"

"My left"

"Then I'm going to teach you how to fight right-handed.  I am right handed, but I stand southpaw because this is not a boxing ring.  It's sloppy.  Usually over after one punch.  You'll lead with a jab.  You want it to be  powerful."

None of this made any sense to me, but he showed me how to fire straight out,  how to keep my knuckles in line with the top of my forearm, how to keep a loose fist, etc.  Then he had me practice on his arm.

"No - you're just pushing my arm with your fingers.  Flatten out your hand.  Better.  Better.  Ow!"  Yeah that's it.  Training's over.  Hit him with that.  He'll quit.  Ow."

So I was terrified, but after my dad's assurance that Jimmy was too and that the fear would stop once the fighting began, I took a different approach at school.  When Jimmy and his choir came up to me I told them that I didn't want to fight because I would be forced to kick his ass.

There was just a moment when I saw a tiny wave of what I was hoping was fear flash across his face, but it was probably just surprise.  As he regained his composure, we agreed to meet Tuesday after school on my side of the street.  He was allowed to cross my street on certain days because the cub scout meetings were on my street every other Tuesday.  We were both Cub Scouts or Webelos or whatever.

So Jimmy and about 7 or 8 unauthorized schoolchildren followed me on Tuesday to just out of sight of the safety patrols (who all knew what was going on and didn't report any of it).  We faced each other.  I got into the right handed boxing stance, ready to punch him like dad showed me.  But I was too hesitant.  Jimmy charged and knocked me to the ground.  Now I was on my back and he was wildly throwing punches at me and slapping at me.  I wasn't scared anymore.  Adrenaline took over and besides, none of these slappy-ass slaps were hurting me at all.  I felt exhilarated.  I put my arm around his neck and twisted to get him underneath me.  What happened next, I could barely believe.  Because he was considerably lighter than me, his legs windmilled through the air as I flung him to the ground.  Experience or not, he was simply completely outmatched.  I realized this as I decided to release a couple of weeks humiliation (literally) on his face.

In retrospect, it probably was not necessary for my dad to teach me how to punch.  Sitting on top of Jimmy, I wailed away at his face with my knuckles.  I was in some sort of frenzy.  The moment was captured perfectly in "A Christmas Story".  My arms were beginning to hurt from being tired, but I wouldn't stop.  The cheering stopped and people were yelling at me to stop hitting Jimmy.  I could not.  I think I would still be there if they hadn't pulled me off.  

Jimmy's face was a mess.  I saw my friend on the ground.  I saw what I had done.  It didn't matter that he had brought it about.  I had thought if I won a fight, I would be proud like my dad was when he always told stories of winning fights.  I wasn't proud.  I was more sad than ever.  I looked around at all of the kids who had wanted to see a fight.  I suddenly hated them.  I blamed them.  I was thinking if it weren't for them giving Jimmy steam, none of this horror would have happened.  It may sound as if I'm overstating it.  It's just a couple of kids fighting, right?  But for me, it was the most emotionally devastating feeling I had ever had.  

Forcing someone into a helpless position and losing control and refusing to relent.  I was disgusted with myself.

The other kids were staring at me like I was some kind of monster.  I had expected to be some kind of hero.  Now they just saw me as a bully.  I turned toward home and started crying.  Nobody came with me.  They all started home the other way without talking.  There was not the expected animation or excitement over the event.  Maybe they talked about it later, but I never heard a word from anyone about it ever again.

With each step away from the scene, I became more upset.  I didn't understand it.  I still don't.  I had expected to feel like a man if I could somehow beat Jimmy.  But I just felt like a fool.

At one point, I stopped walking toward my house and just stood and bawled.  I was completely alone inside myself without the mental maturity to console myself or forgive my error.  

Then this older girl Lisa, who lived across the street from us put her arm around my shoulder and said, "It's ok, Freddie.  Jimmy's alright.  You're ok.  I'll explain what happened to your parents.  It will be ok."  Lisa was sometimes our babysitter  She was about 3 or 4 years older than me so as with all girls 3 or 4 years older than me, I was in love love love with her.

But her calm voice and assurance was exactly what I needed to help me get a grip on my emotions and get home.  Thinking about it, this girl couldn't have been more than 13 or 14 years old at the time.  Man, girls mature faster than boys.

The next day, I was over at Jimmy's house in his room.  We were playing Hot Wheels.  He had a really cool setup.  I mentioned that it looked like he had something on his face and he slugged me in the arm.  I told him I'd have to teach him how to punch some day and we just laughed.


~~

 So after I finished this, I sent it to my mom to read.  We were on vacation this week, so I wrote it ahead of time.  She didn't remember any of these events, but it sparked a memory of her own that was interesting.  The following is an excerpt from her response to reading the story above (names changed, etc.): 


A couple months ago I was backing out of our driveway to go pick up Dee at work. This young man who had been sitting on the neighbor's porch visiting waved at me to stop. I thought he was a friend of theirs. He asked me if I was "Mrs. Thompson"  I told him no. He was very talkative. He was going around the neighborhood looking at homes he remembered and talking to anyone who might remember his family or him.  He went to Saunders in kindergarten, then to St Cecila's or Cathedral or whatever it was called.  I think he was between you and Steve in age.  The only people we seemed to have in common were The Johnson's (no relation) . He said he did not like Jimmy Johnson because he was a bully.  I said "JIMMY JOHNSON? I thought he was a wimp."  He said that Jimmy knocked down his little brother and took his Halloween candy. He found Jimmy and told him he knew what he did. I don't remember exactly what he did about it, but Jimmy did not like it. Pretty sure HE would like your story.  SO THIS morning I was cleaning out a desk drawer and found his card ...

~~

So to me, the big question is, why are people taking their stories of Jimmy's bullying to my mother?

Oh universe, you're a tricky one!