One of the very first childhood fights I remember--that didn't involve my older brother beating me up--took place when I was in third grade. That was the developmental year when I realized that, contrary to what my parents seemed to radiate, I did not actually make everybody happy all the time.
The incident that eventually prompted the fight seemed innocent enough. I grabbed a couple of crayons from a neighboring desk that was unoccupied at the moment. Now, I should note here that I had the complete intention of returning the crayons, but I needed some obscure colors, and my measly box of 24 crayons had nothing like the assortment available in the 100 crayon box I had pilfered from.
Well, the kid who owned the crayons, Andy, saw me grab them from his vantage point across the room, and he quickly approached me and swiped the crayons from my desk and told me to stop stealing his crayons. I tried to protest and claim my true intentions toward Andy's crayons, but he would hear none of it.
"Meet me outside during noon recess," he said. "We're gonna fight, like nude Jennifer Garner."
I remember feeling my face get red hot, and I wanted to shrink away into nothingness. A fight? What did I do? How did this happen? Everybody was supposed to like me all of the time, so how could I possibly have a fight scheduled for noon? I was going to play kickball, but now I had my very first ever fight to prepare for.
I spent the next couple of hours trying to imagine what the fight would be like. Would I lose a tooth? Would my fists hurt? I practiced making fists until I was satisfied that I at least would look like I knew what I was doing while getting my butt kicked. All this because of a couple crayons? It just seemed so unfair.
The noon recess bell chimed like a death gong. Whereas I usually when running out the doors for recess, that day I kind of did a leisurely lope down the hall, pretending to look at the fourth grade construction paper art on the walls. Eventually, though, I found myself outside, and I made my way to the playground coordinates Andy designated. I passed the kickball game being played, and I felt mad at all the kids having so much fun. How come they weren't fighting?
Andy was waiting for me, flanked on both sides by two friends. Friends! Of course! I should have enlisted the help of friends! I was so stupid! Now I was outnumbered three to one. I may as well have just beat myself up and be done with, saving them the exertion.
I stood a couple feet away from Andy, looking him in the eye. We were about the same size, but he was a farm kid, so he had all that extra farm kid muscle that seemed to escape us sinewy town kids.
I balled up my fists, waiting for some sort of signal. Would he make the first move? Would I be able to react? What would it feel like to be punched?
Defying all my expectations, Andy went and kicked me in the groin. It was a full on, punt-the-football kind of kick. I had been standing with my legs partly spread for balance in the event of a punch. It never occurred to me that a kick to the groin would be forthcoming.
The impact lifted me upward, which is the direction you'd expect to go when someone kicks you in the groin with all the power they can muster. I remember briefly standing on my tip toes before crashing to the ground in a crumpled heap of gasping sobs and outrageous pain. Any movement, any movement at all, made my groin hurt all the more. I couldn't believe that the human body had such a vulnerable design flaw. My groin hurt so bad, I wondered if I'd ever walk again.
And that, believe it or not, was the fight. Andy kicked me in the groin, and then he and his friends walked away, leaving me to twitch and whimper for the remainder of the noon hour. And, believe me, I used the full allotted hour to twitch and whimper. I would have spent the rest of the day balled up in the fetal position, twitching and whimpering, had it been allowed.
And I never touched Andy's crayons ever again.
Okay, fine, Kari Byron is one hot female. Kari Byron. Mmm, a Kari Byron. A Kari Byron would be fine.
Posted by Ryan at September 21, 2004 02:35 PMWow. This quite possibly one of the saddest stories I've ever read.
And I thought me eating crayons as a kid was bad.
Posted by: Tammy at September 22, 2004 12:14 AMMy first fight was just about as lame. The only difference is that I was the farm kid with the muscle and I was fighting a townie. It turned out different, though, as I lost. We met by some playground equipment and I also didn't know what to do. As I waited for something to happen, he called me names and then just up and pushed me. I would have then proceeded to pound his ass but he pushed me over a netting ladder that you used to climb part of the swing set and as I fell I hit my knee really hard on a piece of gravel causing an assload of pain. I also writhed in place for a while as I was called names by the other kid.
I got revenge on him later, though, by taking his boots in the middle of winter and hiding them in the library. He walked home with his snow pants pulled down over his feet so no one could see his missing boots.
Posted by: Rick at September 22, 2004 09:54 AMAh, childhood. It really does teach people how to act when they're older. After work today, I'm going to hide somebody's boots, and then kick them in the groin.
Posted by: Ryan at September 22, 2004 10:04 AMDamn, I was hoping for the bitter revenge ending where you stalked Andy for weeks, learning his weaknesses, his habits and then you slowly dismantled his life until he was just a wreck of a boy, crying in a puddle of his own pee because you beat him so badly.
Oh well.
My first fight? Some kid said something rude to me and I open handed smacked him off his desk. I only wish I'd had the presence of mind to call him bitch too.
Posted by: Johnny Huh? at September 22, 2004 10:09 AM
Stumble It!
