Growing up, I was a tough kid. By tough, I mean tough like a tough piece of meat. Not tough, like mean. You could hit me hard, and it would hurt your hand more than my body. I’ve been lucky to have a high pain threshold.
In first grade, Ed B. was a bully. So was his older brother. If you messed with Ed, he’d get his brother after you. Having five sisters, I was instructed early on, you don’t hit people. Onne day at school, Ed pushed me down. When I tried to get up, he hit me and told me to stay there. Because of what I’d learned at home, I did what he said. That afternoon I told my mom. She got mad. I thought she was mad at me. Wow, I got a surprise she was mad at me. She said, “nobody’s going to bully a son of mine? You’re tough, strong and fast. You go back to school tomorrow and beat that kid up!”
Ya, a bit of a shocker but it became a good life lesson. The next day after school I went outside. Ed was there and gave me a shove.
“Stop it,” I said. “My mom said I could beat you up.”
“I don’t think so,” Ed said and took a swing at me.
I ducked the punch, grabbed him and threw him down on the sidewalk. I jumped on him, straddling his chest. With two handfuls of hair, I lifted his head, rose up then bounced, knocking the wind out of him.
I thought his eyes were going to bug out. Want another bounce,” I asked. “Or I could bang your head on the cement. “
He didn’t give me an answer. He just started crying. The kids that had gathered around started laughing. He had bullied everyone of them at some time.
I had just gotten off of him when his older brother came outside. “What are you doing? You little creep!” I started backing up, then turned and ran.
Both Ed and his brother came after me. I lived about 8 blocks from school and ran all the way. I got inside just before Ed and his brother came into the yard. My older sister was in the kitchen and through the window had seen me running in and the two boys who chased me. My sister, Bobbie, went outside. She kicked Ed’s brother in the shins, then knocked him over. She yelled at them a chased the out of the yard.
Back in the house she looked at me and shook her head. “You need to learn how to play better,” she said, grabbed an apple and headed for her room.
My mom showed up. “How was school?” she asked. “Did you pay that bully back?”
“Ya,” I said, “But you’ve always said not to hit people, now you say it’s okay.”
“Honey,” my mom said. “You’ve got five sisters. Don’t ever hit them or any girl. You could really hurt them. For boys, stick up for yourself, but do not start the fight.”
“It’s not fair,” I said. “So, I’m supposed to keep letting my sisters hit and scratch and bite? How about when they lock me in the closet?”
Mom chucked and ruffled my hair. You’re a smart boy,” she said. “You can take care of your sisters without hitting. You can think of something. Now go. Get your homework done. I need to start dinner.”
I went to my room and started thinking. I smiled when I started getting ideas. The reign of terror had begun. It wasn’t long before my sisters begged my mom to let me hit them instead.
