Sometimes risky
May 6, 2008 (Tuesday)
I was in the fourth grade when I had my first fight on the school playground. Actually it was not only the first; it was also the last. And it was not really a fight, because I never knew what was going on.
Here’s what happened. We were enjoying recess when I saw a group of kids off to themselves, in formation like a circle, watching someone do something. Curious, I made my way to the crowd, but still could not see what was happening, so I inched forward through the mass of children to see what they were watching. I made it to the front row and saw two boys fighting. The next thing I knew, someone pushed me forward into the ring, I heard a kid say, “Oh, you want some of it, too!” Then, “Bam!” he hit me in the mouth. About that time, a teacher came through the crowd and grabbed us both. My lip was bleeding, and I was in trouble with the teacher.
I don’t recall if anyone believed me, but I remember being sent home, probably because my lip was bleeding. We lived only two doors down from the school, so going home was easy. No one was at home, so it was up to me to decide what to do about the lip. The treatment turned out to be, “wait and see.” So I waited, and saw the lip swell bigger and bigger until I resembled pictures I had seen of individuals in a tribe of people who stretched their lips by installing some sort small disk. It remained swollen when I returned to school the next couple of days.
So that was the sum total of my fighting experiences while in school. I’m not a tough guy. Never was. But I had a fight one day. Sort of.