Psycho

They say "You can never go back." Perhaps a more accurate statement would be "You should never go back."

I grew up in Corona, moving to Sacramento when I was fourteen. When I was twenty one my friend Dan and I decided to visit Corona while down south working for Spike and Mike's Festival of Animation. I looked up my old friend Jamie and minutes later I was in the passenger seat of his gorgeous, classic, red Chevy pick up truck. Dan was riding in the trucks bed, which must have been horrifying as Jamie took to the freeway at 100 miles per hour. As he flew the truck from lane to lane Jamie explained to me that he was suicidal. This certainly explained the driving. He saw that I was having a hard time understanding. I was in shock as Jamie had acquired huge muscles and a Mexican accent in the three years since I saw him last. He did eventually get me to understand. Jamie was a member of a gang, The Suicidals.

When Jamie and I were kids the Mexicans and the Whites would fight. We all lived together in the same crappy little suburb, and so all the Mexicans had white friends and we all had Mexican friends, but every few months a fight would break out, sides would be taken and you'd have to kick you friend's ass for being Mexican (or for being white). After I left Corona a lot more black folks starting moving in and the Mexicans and Whites now got along as they had a common enemy. The Suicidals dressed like Vatos but listened to speed metal and punk and skateboarded. It was quintesential Southern California.

Jamie took us to his apartment. He didn't live in his apartment. He kept his drugs and guns there and lived at his mom's place. His two cars, his motorcylce and his jet sky were in his parent's names. He was smart. He'd set it all up so that if he got busted he wouldn't lose any of his goodies and his parents wouldn't lose their house. We made several stops to deliver baggies of weed and collect money and finally we arrived at the old neighborhood.

We visited Erick first. I hadn't seen Erick in seven years. I asked Jamie to let me go to the door alone, to surprise Erick. I knocked on the door, the same door I'd banged on at least once a day through most of my childhood. Erick opened and seeing me, now a full grown adult, he said, "Hey dude,what's up."

It was if he'd seen me yesterday. Erick was a mess. He still lived with his mom and he worked a few blocks away at Del Taco. He'd worked at just about every minimum wage paying fast food joint that had popped up in the giant shopping centers that had replaced the fields I'd remember from my childhood. Erick came out front and shook a bush in front of his house. He gave the bush a few kicks and a short stalky Mexican man climed out of it.

"Hey Psycho what's up?" Jamie yelled climbing from his truck. Psycho dove back into his bush and came out with two cases of luke warm beer which we all dove into.

"Hey, why are we hanging out with a skin head?" Pycho wanted to know. He meant me.

"I'm not a skin head. I just have short hair." I hoped that would be in the end of that, but a few minutes later Psycho asked it again.

"Wait, I still don't know why we're hanging out with this fucking skin head."

"Uh, yeah, listen man. I'm not a skin head. I'm an old friend of Jamie and Erick. I grew up here man. I just have short hair."

"You down?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm down, I think. Jamie, am I down?"

"He's down man. This is my bro!" Jamie helped.

"If he's down he should fight me."

!!! I guess I was destined to fight this guy either way as he was obsessed now and he still had many beers ahead of him to help fuel his obsession further. I could tell by looking at him that he'd be hard to hurt. He was a brick wall. And chances are he fought regualarly. I was from a different world now. I was a Northern California, artsty fartsy liberal. I was no Suicidal.

"Alright, fuck it. Let's fight. But please, no hitting in the face and no hitting in the balls, okay?" I figured I'd minimize the damage at least.

Psycho answered with a hard solid puch to the center of my chest. I attempted to block it, but the hand I tried to sweep it away with was as powerless as it would have been trying to brush a tree out of the way. I backed up and tried to come up with a strategy. I took another hit to the chest. Damn! I was in some pain now.

I danced around a bit and the next couple of punches grazed me, doing less damage but still letting me know I was alive. Finally I managed to pick up the guy's rythm. I dodged a punch and caught his arm and lock it up. I laid into him. I punched him in the ribs, repeatedly, as many times as I could. When I'd drilled him enough times, when I was sure that upon my letting go of his arm he'd hit the ground, I stopped punching.

Psycho laughed and said, "Ouch!" He balled his fist back up and nailed me hard in the chest again. I was fucked.

"Okay, so you see, I'm down. I think you cracked my sternum, but I'm definately down."

Luckily, Pyscho agreed and the fight was done. Jamie was crackin' up. "Damn Keith you can still fight. Come on man, I want a go at you."

I had kicked Jamie's ass through out elementary school and had gotten in many fights protecting him in Junior High when he was a cute little Ricky Schroeder look alike. This was to be a real right of passage for him. Truth be told, I was enjoying the adreneline rush and I was happy to keep fighting, as long as it wasn't with Psycho.

"Alright, but no hitting in the face or balls." I answered.

Jamie stepped in and took a swing. I took it in the shoulder and seeing Jamie wide open I delivered a good solid punch to the gut. I followed up with another and I was sure now that I had him. He nailed me in the balls.

I fell to the ground. "You asshole. I said no hitting in the balls."

"There's no rules in fighting." Jamie laughed and cracked open another beer. Once the fighting starts it doesn't want to stop. Psycho approached my friend Dan. Dan sat there with his long red curls and his thick glasses sipping a beer and wondering where the hell I'd brought him.

"Hey, are you down?" Psycho inquired.

"What? Me? Oh, yeah, I'm down for sure and I'd love to fight you, but I can't, because, I'm Jewish."

Psycho blinked in the afternoon sun. He'd never met a Jew in his life. If Dan said he couldn't fight because he was Jewish, well Psycho would just have to take him on his word. Psycho and Jamie beat up Erick instead.

Dan, the little Jew bastard, was a god damn genius.

Success

I was on fire for the lord. I was all about Jesus. I wasn't part of a cool clique of Jesus lovin' kids though. I pretty much was on my own, but that felt right. I was bringing Jesus to those who really needed him rather than wastin' my days preachin' to the choir. I woudn't preach at all. I would be an example. My light would shine and I would be asked, "Keith, you must tell me, how does your light shine so bright?" I was most serious about following Jesus. The real Jesus, the one in the Bible, not the one that hipocrate pastors with nice shiney cars and conservative political views went on about in Sunday sermons. I'd even taken a vow of pacifism, not an easy task for a boy with fighting in his blood.

I was a sophmore attending Success High School, an ironically named continuation school, that is to say, a School you went to after getting kicked out of the regular High School. I'm not sure of the logic behind putting all of us troubled kids together. On the one hand I had some of the best experiences of my life at Success, but on the other, I watched kids who were straight come in, but very few left without giving in to the magnified peer pressure, and they usually were smokin' dope and drinkin' and even listening to rock music by the time they moved on.

I was into Echo and The Bunnymen, Dead or Alive, The Cure, and many other bands that were mighty gay in the eyes of my Metallica lovin' school mates. What you listened to was a big part of how you defined yourself in high school. The not so macho music and associated fashion choice plus my religion made me an obvious choice for Carl, a new kid anxious to prove himself. I was walking by Carl and as I nodded hello he smacked me in the face with a fistfull of batteries. He jumped back in defense, but I didn't start swingin'.

"What the hell?" I asked him.

His response came in more punching, which I managed to duck. I took his legs out from under him and as he came to the ground I slid in and got him tied up in a good head lock. Hours of wrestling with my brother John, a high school athlete, had taught me a few tricks. I wouldn't punch Carl or even put the squeeze on. I'd simply hold him in this position until some adult came to break things up. Unfortunately, the other kids came first and my technique did not provide much in the way of entertainment.

"Let him up. Fight him." Ken instructed me. Ken had long brown hair and loved him some hair rock. He even wore spandex. This was some how macho, where my band t-shirts and plaid pants were gay? I refused to let Carl up and Ken began pulling on my hands to get me to release my hold. I yelled for Carol, the schools secretary and luckily she heard me.

Carl and I sat before Mr. Litke, the principle and when Carl said it was a misunderstanding and that it was all cool now, I allowed this. Oddly enough when we left the office Carl really did feel it was cool now and shook my hand. He turned out to be a nice guy, and he could play Crazy Train on the guitar. Metal head or not, I had to give it up for Crazy Train.

I handled myself pretty well with Carl and this got the other students curious about me. It was naturally assumed that I didn't fight because I couldn't fight. Jarvis was a loud mouth and a conformist and from that fight on he laid into me. Jarvis talked smack, intentionally bumped me with his shoulder when we'd pass each other, and all around did his best to provoke me. I responded to one of his insults and he decided he'd had enough of waiting. He charged me. I saw him coming and it was easy to get past his punches and tie him up, just as I'd done with Carl. Once again Ken, who was Jarvis' best pal, was on the scene.

"Let him up and fight him or I start kicking." Ken threatened. I was in no position to defend myself from Ken's kicking, so I let Jarvis, now enraged, up and I prepared to defend myself as he charged again. I tied him up again, this time managing to stay standing as I got him in a full nelson, my fists joined behind his head, pushing his head forward to keep him from slamming it back ward into my face. This allowed me to keep Jarvis in front of me if Ken charged and to kick back as well.

Mr. Litke came into the room and broke things up right away. I didn't wait for Carl to explalin that there was just a misunderstanding. I told Litke that they were trying to force me to fight and that I'd nothing but defend myself.

Litke dealt with Jarvis and Ken. I didn't pay attention to the details. On the bus ride back to the "regular" high school, which I would walk home from, Jarvis made it clear that we'd be fighting again the second I stepped off school grounds. And then I surprised him.

"I'd like to be a pacifist, and I'd rather not fight you, but you give me no choice. I'm going to fight back now."

Jarvis continued to threaten, but his nerves got the best of him. A few blocks from the school he announced to any and all that we could get in trouble even if we fight off school grounds and that I was just the sort of pussy to nark. I didn't say a word. I was allowed to walk home in peace and Jarvis laid off of me from then on.

Confession

I was playing in the backyard with my brothers Erick and Edward. The geeky kid who lived across the street came over and Edward told him that I could probably kick his ass despite being a good three years younger.

"No way. I'd totally kick his ass."

I didn't want to let Edward succeed at making us fight but how not too. If I didn't stand up to this kid now he'd keep pushing and we'd end up fighting anyway.

"Hey just shut up okay." I told him.

"Fuck you, fag." he answered.

So I hit him. He went nuts, flailing and screaming. I stepped out of the way, hitting him again whenever I saw an opening. Edward and Erick had some small bit of conscience and after I'd hit the kid a few more times they grabbed him and pushed him through our gate and out of our yard. I saw him crying and I knew how humiliated he felt. I tried to apologize, not realizing that this would make him feel worse. He was screaming and pounding on our gate. I wanted to make it okay. I went in the house and cried. That night I told my mom what happened and asked to go to church so I could confess.

My mom took me to church and I told the priest what had happened. He was unmoved and asked what else I had to confess. I threw in some nonsense about smoking and cursing.

Tommy Butcher

I ended up switching schools after much fighting and I was determined to put a stop to my fighting ways. I was successful to a degree. I started fourth grade at Norco Elementary and I got into a fight with a sixth grader on my first day. I held my own and at this school the resulting reputation didn't get me into more fights as defending champion but instead kept the other kids away. It kept them too far away. I did not blend in well with The Norco kids and I had only a few friends but I didn't get into too many more fights either, at least not at school.

I was walking home from the bus stop and a kid on a bike who I didn't recognize kept circling me. I told him to fuck off. He stopped and told me that he was going to kick my ass for what I did to his best friend Alvin. I suggested we have a go right there but he said he wasn't ready yet.
I had been expelled from Norco, more for throwing a chair at the teacher than for fighting, and I'd made it through one more elementary school and one year of Junior High before Tommy Butcher and I crossed paths again.

Now my fight with Alvin was in third grade. When, in eighth grade a short haired, red faced kid told me to shut up in the locker room I didn't even recognize Tommy Butcher. It'd been five years, which is like 20 years to a kid. Tommy was still dedicated to his mission to kick my ass and now he was ready. We agreed to meet at the bike jumps, a place safe from adult interference.

I met with Jamie and Paul after school and passed the couple of hours until I had to go kick Tommy's ass. When we got to the bike jumps the place was packed. Every kid in the neighborhood had shown up for this fight. I walked toward Tommy and gave him a shove. Tommy did not shove back. He started a barrage of punches. He'd spent those five yars wisely. He was prepared for this. I didn't have a chance to respond, I had no idea how to respond. Finally, after being struck countless times, I went down. I stayed down on my belly for a minute and thought about what I was to do. I would come at him swinging. I put my palms to the ground to push myself up and as I raised my head, Tommy treated it like a soccer ball. One hard, perfectly placed kick to the face.

I was back on my belly. Jamie rushed to my side, and I felt the rest of the crowd moving in. I knew Tommy was done if I was. I was. I got to my feet and I walked to Tommy and shook his hand. This was not uncommen then. Many people I talk to, especially kids, find this hard to believe, but most fights in our neiborhood ended this way. The handshake was followed by the walk of shame. The physical pain was nothinig. We hurt ourselves worse skateboarding and breakdancinig. The embarassment of having your ass kicked was excrutiating. Shaking hands actually made this part easier. It showed that you could take it. That you were cool.

When I got home I had two shoe lace imprents on my cheek. I had a good cry. As many fights as I'd been in, this was the first fight I'd ever really lost, well the first that didn't involve one of my brothers.

Paul and Jamie called me and told me they were gettinig a posse together to kick Tommy's ass, but I called them off. Tommy had won this one. Now I could spend five years preparing and maybe we'd have another go. When my mom was done fussing over me and my dad had me alone for a minute, he taught me that being on the ground isn't a bad place to be.

"Don't try to get up right away. Just roll on your back and keep your feeet up. No one can get past those feet and if they do, your fists are next. No hurry to get up, none."

Five years later my family had moved to Sacramento. I came back to Corona for a visit and Jamie and I ended up at Tommy's house, visiting with him and Alvin. They were both huge, unnaturally huge. I have no doubt they were using steroids. Neither of them did too well with the ladies. Jamie on the other hand, with his resemblence to Ricky Schroeder and his bad boy charm was known as a player.

"Hey Jamie, why don't you get some girls over here." Tommy suggested in a frighteningly deep voice.

"Dude, girls won't come here." Jamie told him truthfully.

"Yeah, well, you got five minutes to get some girls here or I'm gonna kick your ass."

Jamie called a few girls and as he predicted they all agreed to hook up with he and I anywhere but at Tommy's place. So, Jamie and I left Tommy and Alvin to being huge while we went to hang out with real live girls. I felt vindicated.

Alvin

I was on the playground with some other kids playing kung fu. I had elected myself the resident expert on kung fu, after all I had seen quite a few Kung Fu movies. I'd create a basic plotline, one that allowed for lots of fighting and then we'd make the dramatic kung-fu noises while we acted out fight scene after fight scene.

A boy named Alvin, who was in second grade, a year behind me, came to join the fun. I was having a great kung fu bout with Alvin when he hit me, hard in the head.

"Hey, watch it. You actually hit..." and before I could finish my scolding the little shit hit me again. I didn't even know this kid, but if you had a reputation as a fighter it wasn't uncommon for other kids to want to fight you just for the status of it.

I started swinging back. Alvin was fairly handy with his fists and provided more of a challenge than I was used to. With three older brothers constantly pounding on you, you learn to handle your fists earlier than most. I traded punches with this smaller, but speedy kid. Neither of us could really be declared the winner when a teacher rushed in and broke things up. I was back in the principal's office again. Alvin and I each told our side, and Mr. Wilcox made us each agree to be done with this conflict. I actually meant it when I said I would drop it.

Walking home that day with my friend Randy I found this was not a promise to be kept. Randy noticed Alvin walking a few blocks behind us.

"You following us?" Randy shouted.

"So what if I am." came the reply.

"Yeah, well Keith might have to kick your ass again."

At this point I felt more like kicking Randy's ass. "Turn around and shut up." I told him. A minute later Alvin landed on my back.

I was caught off guard but I responded quickly grabbing his ankles and dropping backwards. Alvin's head smacked against the concrete. I'm guessing he was unconcious before I turned around and started punching him in the nose. I have no idea how many times I hit him, nor do I remember stopping.

The friends I had before I'd started hitting him let me walk home alone after. I was halfway there when I felt someone land on my back again, and this time I was too freaked out to respond with the skill I'd shown earlier. I tried punching and spinning to get free as I was hit in the face repeatedly. My hair was being pulled and I was freaking out.

I finally got the kid off of me when a car pulled up. An adult; Surely this meant salvation. I ran to the car only to find Alvin's mom behind the wheel, her boy a bloody mess in the back seat. "Look what you did to my son." she screeched. "I hope Jamie kicks your ass." and with that she took off.

Jamie? I turned around and sure enough, Jamie, the scrawny, Ricky Schroeder looking kid whose ass I'd been kicking for years was the monster who'd been on my back. I balled up my fists and Jamie took off.

I ran the rest of the way home and was relieved when I finally found myself locking the dead bolt on our front door and peeking through the peep hole to see what mob was following me.

My older brother Edward got home and told me I was in big trouble. Apparently Alvin was quite popular. Most of the school now threatened revenge. It would seem that getting beaten savagely enough can make you popular in a hurry. My mom got home and I told her the whole story, including the fact that the entire planet was now looking to kill me. I hated myself for my inabillity to stay out of fights. I was sure something was wrong with me. My mom didn't disagree but promised to help me fix things.

Mr. Wilcox called and informed my mom that I was to be expelled. Not suspended but expelled. The word was well known to students, but not even the sixth graders had ever witnessed it happening in their lifetime. To be kicked out of school, permanently; what would become of me. Surely I'd blown it. My life was all but over.

Mr. Wilcox had not bothered to get my version of the events. I was a known fighter and he decided I had finally gone too far. My mom was a fighter of a different sort She got on the phone, calling the parents of every kid who may have witnessed the fight. She insisted that Mr. Wilcox talk to each and every kid on her list. Mr. Wilcox agreed to do so. I was at the school with my mom when I ran into a heavy set red headed girl named Wendy.

"I'm telling Mr. Wilcox that you started it." she informed me.

"I didn't start it. He jumped on my back."

"Alvin's a sweetheart and you're a jerk."

Wendy was picked on a lot for her weight and general geekiness and this was her chance to be on the winning team. As young as I was I remember feeling sad for her, realizing what a pathetic attempt she was making to be cool. I hoped Mr. Wilcox got a more accurate report from the other kids.

He did. I was allowed to continue attending Home Garden's Elementary School, but I would spend my recesses and lunch break sitting in the office. I got a book on magic and spent these lonely hours trying to entertain the secretary with Magic tricks. She was not amused and complained about the mess I made as I constructed my props out of construction paper and scotch tape. She asked that I not be allowed to do my magic tricks anymore. Tough audience, but I didn't give up.

My mom kept her promise to help me figure out what the hell was wrong with me. I started seeing a shrink. I was prescribed ritalin, which I refused to take, and I was tested for MGM or Mentally Gifted Minors program. I scored high on the IQ test and I was accepted in. I would be bussed to a new school as Home Gardens did not have an MGM program. I'd get a new start, and more importantly, I'd get to have recess again.

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.