I am certain every one of us brats faced aggression in one form or another. How each of us handled those situations is likely as unique as each of us are. Here is my reaction.
I am not sure just where Harry I's hate for me grew from, but it was fierce. In grade 7, him and his cronies, I don't remember any of their names now, picked on me a lot. They would flick my ears, toss things at me, trip me, just anything to be nasty. And with my quick wit and quicker mouth, I only fanned the flames. Being tall and pretty scrawny, I was often a target. I think the only reason I didn't get in more fights was because I would fight. I wasn't going to just take a beating, I was going to let them know they had been in a scrap.
We hadn't been in Kingston very long, I was in grade 7, still in my first year in Fort Henry Heights, Kingston. We were only into the first few weeks of school, when someone ran up to me saying there were about a hundred kids picking on my younger brother Paul. Paul was a lot like me, had a big mouth and was prone to allowing it to get him into trouble. However, he was my brother and I was not into letting anyone pick on him.
I ran to the scene and saw a big crowd of kids around him, and Harry was one of those kids. At this point I was aware of Harry's reputation, and it was a bad one. He was a bully. I judged I was not up to taking on him and all these kids so I ran for help. I wasn't far from home and, thankfully, my oldest brother Mark was there. I was two years older than Paul, and Mark was three years older than me. He was the equalizer for this situation.
As he and I approached the crowd around Paul, I was strategizing how we were going to handle the mob. Mark simply waded in, shoving kids out of his way until he was beside Paul. I still recall how he looked moving to Paul's rescue, like a knight. I still admire him because he didn't hesitate a moment, just got in there and saved Paul.
Harry stepped forward and, where I would have been worried or concerned, Mark simply grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him to the ground. He may have even slapped him up the side of the head. So much for the infamy of Harry I. Paul was now safe and we went home. I was in awe of my big brother.
A few weeks, or months, later, I was in the Lundy's Lane schoolyard with a couple of my friends. We were behind the school, near the sports ground. Harry and some his cronies came near us and he lipped of with some crap, I no longer recall what. I answered him back in a snappy manner, not intended to make nice. He shot back the infamous fighting words, "You want to make something of it?"
Many thoughts ran through my head. He had his friends with him, one of whom I had gotten into a fight with a few weeks earlier, and lost, and I had no confidence that my friends would back me up. In fact, as I recall, they were already backing away. Also, we were at school and I had been in enough trouble for this and that activity and really didn't need any further calls home reporting on my behaviour. Up to this point, Harry and I had never actually come to an all-out fight, just verbal altercations, sabre rattling. And finally, Harry had scars on his neck and side of his face from a very bad burn. I didn't know if hitting him there would be considered cowardly so that left me with only half his head as a target.
By now, a bunch of kids had gathered round and I was concerned about saving face. If I backed down, would that lead to everyone thinking they could get the best of me?
"Yeah, I want to make something of it." I tossed back at him. I could feel the crowd of kids step back, getting out of the line of fire.
"Right now." He said.
"After school." I offered. At least that would take one of my concerns off my mind.
"Are you scared?" He retorted.
That was it. Those were the fateful words. Now we were both committed.
"Alright," I stepped forward, acting braver than I was feeling, "right now."
The chant went up from the crowds as our fists came up in boxer stances. "Fight, fight, fight."
At that point, everything else around me faded. I only saw Harry, only heard my own nervous breathing. I stepped in, swung from my right and connected with the unburned side of his head. He faltered and I stepped in, fists flying.
In a moment it was over, Harry was on the ground, and I was standing over him. The next few minutes I don't recall but the crowd broke up, life returned to normal. My friends had faded with the crowd.
One of Harry's friends, the kid I had lost the fight to a couple weeks earlier, came toward me. 'Oh crap,' I thought, 'now I am going to get mine.'
If you have never been in a fight, a real fight, you may not understand what happens in your body, what it is like to go through the energy rush when your adrenal gland works overtime, pumping out its wonderful hormones. You may not know how depleted you feel when you get to the other side of that reaction, the crash. That's were I was when this kid came up to me.
Certain I was about to be met with some sort of challenge, or simply another fight, I was totally unprepared for his words.
"You just beat Harry I?"
"Yes," my answer was simple, I was watching for where the first punch was going to come from.
"You think I could do it?"
I might have been happier if he punched at me. This was supposed to be Harry's friend and he wanted to know if I thought he could best Harry in a fight. So much for loyalty. And didn't he remember our fight? Had I been that inconsequential?
Of all the things I wanted to say, it was my base logic that kicked in. I beat Harry, this guy had beaten me. That equals he could beat Harry. So I simply said "Yes."
He went away looking happy. Leaving me with a pat on the shoulder.
That was pretty much the end of hostilities between me and Harry. He avoided me after that and I was happy. I don't know if my victory was a lucky fluke or if I had really earned it but it ended people picking on me. I don't recall having any more fights in grade school. I didn't like fighting, but I wasn't going to back down either.
I think I have grown a lot since then. Now I would rather negotiate my way out of an altercation, even one I am confident I can win. No one ever really wins a fight. You might best someone with your fists, but that doesn't make you right. You might be able to beat someone up, but that may only show you are a bully. My ego has a lot less control of my mouth now-a-days.
I would be interested to know how you handled these times. Were you the recipient or the deliverer? What were your thoughts and feelings at the time. How has that shaped your view of the world today? Just curious.
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