Bullies

I never liked them and still don’t.

I learned my lesson early; or you think I would have learned my lesson when I was four years old.

Mom had taken my brother, sister and I to a park in East Los Angeles.

My memory has been aided by other accounts, and here is evidently how it played out:

I was playing on a merry-go-round when a small (smaller than I) Mexican boy came up and asked if he could play. I still don’t recall my reasons for being a little asshole to the kid, but I think I had a false sense of security with my big brother close by.

“No, you can’t play, in fact I am gonna beat you up,” I crowed, loud enough for my big brother to hear.

“Please I just want to ride the merry-go-round, I don’t want any trouble,” the little guy pleaded.

I keenly prepared to thrash this intruder, so I pushed him down.

“Please, I don’t want to fight. I’ll just go over to the monkey bars,” he tried reasoning with me as he brushed himself off.

I was having none of it.

I raised my fist preparing to bring down the thunder.

He blocked my attempt at injury and proceeded to whip my young ass, all the while apologizing to me and reaffirming, he did not want to fight.

My answer to this?

My nose bled all over my Bozo the Clown t-shirt.

As I trudged embarrassingly back to our picnic table, I looked to my big brother who had witnessed the whole debacle.

“Why didn’t you help me and beat that kid up?”

He told me “If anyone EVER hurts you for no reason, I will be the first to help. But you have to learn that you were in the wrong. The kid only wanted to play on the carousel, and you picked the fight with him.”

My next fight produced the same results.

I was the “new kid” in the high school in England. On my very first day, I make the mistake of flirting with the prettiest girl in class, and evidently Mitch McKee, the school bully, was having none of it. He was under the impression I was cutting in on his action.

“New kid better watch his step,” he warned before the teacher arrived to start class.

Now it was my turn to be bullied.

Neither one of us threw the first punch; we both struck out simultaneously. The only problem was, my fist just glanced off his thick skull with no effect whatsoever, while his right hook caught me flush on the nose and I actually remembering seeing stars as the teacher entered the classroom.

Blood everywhere.

I never exacted my revenge on Mitch in the succeeding two years my stepfather was stationed at the base, but I did make short work of the base commander’s privileged little asshole of a son who picked a fight with me. Evidently, he was Mitch’s best friend and he had heard him say what a pussy I was, so he hits me from behind with his gym bag in front of a couple students.

I was so mad I was shaking as I pointed my finger at him.

“The field. After school. You’d better show up.”

I beat him within an inch of his life. I was totally out of control, but I was making a statement to all the other Mitch McKey’s who might think I was fair game.

I am a lover, not a fighter, but I know my opponent thought I was way more Rocky Balboa than Casanova.

Despite my massive victory in front of just about every student in the school, I still felt like shit.

There are no winners in school fights. You can make the case that there are no winners in ANY fight (that is not officially sanctioned).

Stay well.