Fights and Bullies

I have only been in a single fist-fight in my life. I've never started any fight and I've never been a bully. The last day of 7th grade at Bennion Junior High School was a great one. Life was still pretty carefree. It was a very warm day and all of my friends were having a water fight on our street. I gladly joined in. We had water balloons and water weenies and hoses. Everyone was wet. Then someone introduced a can of shaving cream. Now we were a bunch of kids having a water fight that smelled incredibly clean! I'm sure our mothers were proud.

Enter Kirt Meeks.

He showed up on his bike and invited himself to the party. I had never met him before but the other kids knew him vaguely. He had just finished 9th grade and was older than us. As he was driving past us on his dirt bike, squirting us with water, I ran as fast as I could on his other side and plastered his hair with shaving cream.

Screeeech.

He got off his bike and, in Bruce Lee fashion, wiped the shaving cream from his face and hair and wagged his finger in my direction while uttering a high-pitched "waaaaa-aaaaah! OK, he didn't really do that, but he wasn't happy. I don't know why. He was soaking wet, just like the rest of us and seemed to be having a great time.

"Think that's funny?" he asked me.

"Uh...sure," I said, mystified at his sudden aggression.

Out of my lower-left field of vision I noticed his right hand coming toward my head. I deftly moved my head out of the way and watched the punch sail harmlessly away. Then my brain clicked off.

In a hail of fists I literally punched that bully all the way down the street and onto the grass at the church, vaguely aware that Kirt was bouncing around, bobbing his head, and counting the whole time. "One, two, three..." he would repeat breathlessly. He must've been taking some sort of boxing lesson which had yet to prove effective. A large group had gathered around us and was watching. Then Chris Cox showed up. He was older and MUCH larger than all of us and could have stopped the fight at any moment. But he didn't. He stood at the edge of the melee and calmly observed. Then his older brother Mike showed up and tried to stop the fight. Chris didn't let him. He held him back. To this day I don't know why. Perhaps Chris had watched the whole interchange and knew that a bully was getting his butt kicked? Who knows. Finally, as I became aware of my surroundings again, I was out of breath. I was sitting on Kirt, pounding him, and decided he'd had enough. I held him down, looked up at the crowd and said, "I'm tired. Could someone come hold him down?" Mike came in and grabbed Kirt. I walked home alone. I sat on my bed shaking like a leaf wondering how I had gone from the joys of the last day of school to a fist fight. My hand hurt. My knuckles gradually swelled and hurt for a week. I had not brought this on myself. I don't even remember my parents knowing about it. Besides sore knuckles, I don't think I had a scratch on me. Poor Kirt.

We didn't talk much about that day after it happened. In fact, I don't think it was EVER mentioned. I even had a locker not 2 doors down from Kirt when I was in high school. We never spoke to each other and rarely made eye contact. It was the elephant in the room.

Last year Bryce had an experience that I was surprised by. He had been outside playing football when a neighbor hit him on purpose. He just told the kid to knock it off and walked into the house. He didn't start crying until the door slammed behind him. I made it clear that he was NEVER allowed to start a fight. But I also made it clear that if someone is hurting you, you have every right to defend yourself until that threat goes away. And Bryce is not a small kid. He's 12 and is as large as half the 14-year old boys in our neighborhood. Heck, he's always been among the largest kids in the elementary school. I digress. I consider myself a lover, not a fighter. [har, har, Alfalfa!] The fact that I've only been in a single fight shows that I'm generally pretty good at diffusing tempers and making peace. At least I think so. I've known parents who prohibit their children from striking another child under ANY circumstances. I have heard parents state that they teach their children to "run away at all costs and avoid engagement." What are your experiences? What do you teach your children?