Sorry for the lack of updates recently.  I wish I had some kind of awesome excuse for why I haven’t updated this blog in a few months, but I don’t.  Honestly, I’m just lazy.

I have a younger brother, and as kids we fought all the time.  No big deal really.  A few inept punches  thrown (few landed), perhaps a wimpy kick or two, and a lot of rolling around on the ground.  But there comes a time in almost every young man’s life when he has to engage in a fight with someone who isn’t his brother (or sister, for that matter).  Some young men actually yearn to engage in fisticuffs with another person and relish the idea of beating the crap out of someone.  Then there are those who fear fighting.  Intensely.  As a short, underweight kid with braces and glasses, I was one of those kids.

One afternoon after school—I guess I was in 5th or 6th grade—myself and three friends got together to play a game of backyard football.  There was Dave, Justin, Adam, and myself.  Now, at one point during the game, Dave and Justin got into an argument.  I don’t remember what they argued about.  All I know is that they ended up rolling around in the grass together.  No punches were thrown, just two dudes rolling around on the ground.  Adam and I watched together and laughed.  How ridiculous! we thought.

Then, Adam looked at me, smiled, and asked: “Hey, do you want to rumble?” (Yes, he said “rumble.”)

Judging by Adam’s smile, I assumed he was joking, so I said, “Sure.”

Next thing I knew, Adam had put me in some kind of hold to keep me from moving.  I squirmed around a bit and managed to break free.  I turned and looked at Adam.  He was no longer smiling.  He looked serious.  Surely he wasn’t expecting us to really fight, was he?  But before I could make any sense of what was going on, Adam squared up and punched me right in the eye.  (Remember, I was wearing glasses).  I hit the ground like a sack of dirt.  Adam stood over me.

“What the hell?” I managed to say.

“Asshole,” Adam said.

Completely dumbfounded, I stood up, covered my eye with my fingers and told Dave I was going home.  Walking home, I thought, was that a fight?  Was that my first fight?  I didn’t even know it was a fight!  Had I known, I would’ve at least tried not to get punched in the eye.  But, alas, that’s what happened.  And it suddenly occurred to me that come the next school day, Adam would tell everyone how he punched poor me in the eye and how I did nothing and just went home.  And that, my friends, is exactly what he did.

Related posts:

1. Why I Need to Move