Robert Britt

            Author, Columnist

Heading to the Fights

       Once upon a time, I’ve always wanted to start a ponderance with that phrase, so I might as well illegitimatize this now. I had a friend, no really I did, stop acting like that. We did all the usual friend things. Football, soccer, kick the can, freeze tag, big fight…wait a second, big fight? How did that get in there? Well, it seems like a bunch of the kids on my block were bored and decided to stage a fight. Somehow it ended up being me against Brad, my friend and next door neighbor. So we are standing around and people are taunting us. You know the usual childhood taunts. What are you chicken to fight? Clever stuff like that.

        So I am looking at Brad and he’s looking at me. Neither one of us wants to fight, but it’s mob rule. That is just too absurd to even write. Here we are a bunch of kids, the oldest can’t be 14 or 15. (At first I mistyped and wrote 24, now that would have been ridiculous altogether; even more than it was.) A bunch of kids in a suburban neighborhood bored and acting stupid, just for something to do. This isn’t what I was looking for. So we start “fighting” and I lose. Brad’s a year or two younger than me, so it’s pretty humiliating, even though I am like the smallest kid in my grade. I’m saying stuff to the older kids like, “Why did you tell him the secrets and not me.” Like there was any forethought to this whole scenario. Brad got the same prep talk I did, I just don’t think I really wanted to hit him, so I never had a heart in the fight. Not that I was or am a fighter anyway.

        Now here’s the really goofy part. I lost the fight, but Brad still acts like he always did, which was like I was bigger and stronger. Deferential towards me. Strange.

        We’ll flash forward a few years later. Now I’m at vo-tech and I think I am king-shit of the turd pile or something. I love that expression. I’m on top of a pile of crap with a crown of guano on my head. What a riot. (Sometimes I make myself laugh. Sorry.) I only think I’m king shit at vo-tech; at my home school I am still the turd pile. It seems when you get into a new arena you can re-invent yourself. Cool. (That works actually your whole life. You aren’t your past; you are who you decide you are. Only people sometimes try to force you to stay the “past person.” )

        I digress. I am walking along and make fun of a big goofy kid named Greg. He outweighs me probably by 60 – 100 pounds, but I’m on top of the pile, remember? He decides I’m not. He grabs me by the top of the shirt and picks me up off my feet. He is also probably, I dunno, history makes him 6 inches taller than me. He says something to the effect of, “OK, lets do it. Either you knock it the fuck off, or we are fighting right now.” Diplomatically I say, “Whoa, chill out man. I don’t want to fight you.” So he puts me down and we are done.

        Why did I pick on Greg? I thought I could and I thought he would just go along with it. He was big, gawky, not attractive (like I was prince fucking charming, excuse me, king shit) and probably talked with a lisp. I don’t know.

        Somehow when you are at the bottom of the heap it makes you feel better beating on someone lower than you. Verbal beating I gave Greg for a year or so, until he had enough. Greg, you probably will never read this, but I am really sorry man. I was an asshole to you. The thing is, I don’t even know exactly why, except for some reason it made me feel a little better. Like if I could pick on someone, I wasn’t the lowest life form on the planet.

        You know I never really got in a real fight. Even the one with Brad was mostly talk. I just think you ought to be able to work things out without the physical stuff. I am really trying to atone for some years of dickishness. I’ve been less dick-like for many years now, but maybe now I can let go of some of my guilt.

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