Fight Stories
I was the fourth of five boys. I grew up on the bottom of a dog pile, three older brother bearing down on me, three older brothers kicking, punching, throwing me. I could've made it much easier on myself if I'd occasionaly admit defeat. My oldest brother John recalls feeling guilty at lifting me over his head and dropping me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me, when nothing else would stop me from charging him again and again. Of course this didn't do it either. As soon as I'd recovered the ability to take air into my lungs I was back at him, determined to kick his ass depsite his being twice my age and twice my size. John eventually gave up, carried me to my room and after tossing me inside, he took a seat and held the door shut until I passed out trying to open it or until mom got home.
Even Edward, the closest to me in age, towered over me. I stood as little chance of ever kicking his ass as I did of taking down John.
I remained hopefull. An advertisement on television heralded the awesome powers one would possess upon sliding their feet into a pair of “Kid Power” sneakers. I knew this was the ticket and begged my mom to take me to the store immediately. I’d never expressed an interest in athletics so my mom must have been surprised at this request which I assured her had to do with my desire to be better at sports. After a week of badgering she promised me that soon the amazing “Kid Powers” would be mine.
I let my brothers know that their days were numbered. “Just wait’ll I get my Kid Powers” I’d warn. “You’ll really get it then.” They were, of course, terrified. They knew how badly they deserved the beatings they had coming and I’m sure this added to the fear they felt.
At last the day came. My mom took me to the shoe store, and to be honest I can’t recall having my foot measured or trying on the shoes. My excitement was probably to great to allow me to soak in the moment. I do recall jumping out of the station wagon after it had pulled into the driveway on Candlewood Street. I ran into the house, hollering all the way, “Watch out, I’ve got my Kid Powers on. And of course, my brothers, cowards that they were, ran. They hid. They did everything possible to avoid a beating, until the game got old. And I was always one to keep at a game long after it had become severely over ripe.
My brothers tired of running, and I became the car chasing dog who catches the car, and is at a loss. It was my time. I was not going to pass up this opportunity. I had gone long enough without tasting power. I had not kicked any ass. Edward stopped running and gave me a look that let me know he had regained his confidence, and some annoyance to boot. I craned my neck to look up at his face. I lowered my gaze to his chest, which I was at eye level with. I looked at his hands which I saw were balled into fists and at the ready. I looked at his legs, and channeling all the strength given to me by the almighty Kid Powers, I gave him a good hard kick.
Needless to say, my Kid Powers let me down.
At the time it was hard to appreciate what the violence at home was doing for me. When it came to matching up against my peers I miles ahead of the pack. I remember very few of the fights I had in the first four years of elementary school. For some reason I remember getting in trouble more than I remember the punching that got me there.
I do remember fighting a kid named Aton, after being warned that when in a fight he'd "go psycho". I was well aquainted with the "go psycho" school of fighting. As Aton came at me, screaming and swinging his arms every which way I delivered a nice solid kick to his ill protected stomach. He caught his breath and charged again, still not protecting his stomach. he recieved another kick. I didn't want to kick him anymore so I went home leaving him crying on someone's front lawn.
I also remember three fights that my brothers got me into. Erick and Edward would debate, loud enough for me to hear, on who the toughest kid in third grade was. I'd chime in that it was me but those bastards thought it was Greg. Well, what choice did I have but to kick Greg's ass the next day. Then they decided Steve was actually the toughest. Steve was from a legendary tough Samoan family but he himself was a bookworm. He had taught me to play chess. I kicked his ass. Then it was decided that Roger was the toughest but Roger and I didn't cross paths too often so his ass kicking would wait.
I was jumping on my mom's bed with Edward and he shoved me. I landed eyeball first on a bed post and went to school with a huge shiner. I was in the boys restroom the next day admiring my shiner in the mirror when who should come in but Roger. And I didn't even have to start the fight as Roger began bragging about the black eye that HE gave me. So, I kicked his ass.
There's one more fight that I remember from these years, a fight I'll never forget, a fight that changed the course of my life. And that fight will be the next post on this blog. Click here to read it.
Even Edward, the closest to me in age, towered over me. I stood as little chance of ever kicking his ass as I did of taking down John.
I remained hopefull. An advertisement on television heralded the awesome powers one would possess upon sliding their feet into a pair of “Kid Power” sneakers. I knew this was the ticket and begged my mom to take me to the store immediately. I’d never expressed an interest in athletics so my mom must have been surprised at this request which I assured her had to do with my desire to be better at sports. After a week of badgering she promised me that soon the amazing “Kid Powers” would be mine.
I let my brothers know that their days were numbered. “Just wait’ll I get my Kid Powers” I’d warn. “You’ll really get it then.” They were, of course, terrified. They knew how badly they deserved the beatings they had coming and I’m sure this added to the fear they felt.
At last the day came. My mom took me to the shoe store, and to be honest I can’t recall having my foot measured or trying on the shoes. My excitement was probably to great to allow me to soak in the moment. I do recall jumping out of the station wagon after it had pulled into the driveway on Candlewood Street. I ran into the house, hollering all the way, “Watch out, I’ve got my Kid Powers on. And of course, my brothers, cowards that they were, ran. They hid. They did everything possible to avoid a beating, until the game got old. And I was always one to keep at a game long after it had become severely over ripe.
My brothers tired of running, and I became the car chasing dog who catches the car, and is at a loss. It was my time. I was not going to pass up this opportunity. I had gone long enough without tasting power. I had not kicked any ass. Edward stopped running and gave me a look that let me know he had regained his confidence, and some annoyance to boot. I craned my neck to look up at his face. I lowered my gaze to his chest, which I was at eye level with. I looked at his hands which I saw were balled into fists and at the ready. I looked at his legs, and channeling all the strength given to me by the almighty Kid Powers, I gave him a good hard kick.
Needless to say, my Kid Powers let me down.
At the time it was hard to appreciate what the violence at home was doing for me. When it came to matching up against my peers I miles ahead of the pack. I remember very few of the fights I had in the first four years of elementary school. For some reason I remember getting in trouble more than I remember the punching that got me there.
I do remember fighting a kid named Aton, after being warned that when in a fight he'd "go psycho". I was well aquainted with the "go psycho" school of fighting. As Aton came at me, screaming and swinging his arms every which way I delivered a nice solid kick to his ill protected stomach. He caught his breath and charged again, still not protecting his stomach. he recieved another kick. I didn't want to kick him anymore so I went home leaving him crying on someone's front lawn.
I also remember three fights that my brothers got me into. Erick and Edward would debate, loud enough for me to hear, on who the toughest kid in third grade was. I'd chime in that it was me but those bastards thought it was Greg. Well, what choice did I have but to kick Greg's ass the next day. Then they decided Steve was actually the toughest. Steve was from a legendary tough Samoan family but he himself was a bookworm. He had taught me to play chess. I kicked his ass. Then it was decided that Roger was the toughest but Roger and I didn't cross paths too often so his ass kicking would wait.
I was jumping on my mom's bed with Edward and he shoved me. I landed eyeball first on a bed post and went to school with a huge shiner. I was in the boys restroom the next day admiring my shiner in the mirror when who should come in but Roger. And I didn't even have to start the fight as Roger began bragging about the black eye that HE gave me. So, I kicked his ass.
There's one more fight that I remember from these years, a fight I'll never forget, a fight that changed the course of my life. And that fight will be the next post on this blog. Click here to read it.
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