October 10, 2007

Face In The Mud And My MC Hammer Pants

When I was in eight grade there was this big kid in seventh grade who would make fun of me all the time. I was ashamed because I was older than him and yet this kid would bully the hell out of me. I told my parents about it once and they just laughed at me and said that I should defend myself but I didn't know how. It's not like I've ever been the strongest person in the world.

One day after school it was raining really bad and my parents hadn't showed up to pick me up yet. I was waiting for them to show and the damn bully kid comes around the corner with his friend and he sees me. I didn't want to confront him so I just looked dead ahead and kept walking, pretending I didn't see him. The asshole trips me, sending me falling face first into a huge puddle of mud.

I stand up, totally crying, completely covered in mud, and he starts laughing. That's when I lost it. I charged him, intent on beating the shit out of him. But instead I threw the weakest punches ever. Weak, wide girl punches, more like slaps, and he gives me this W.T.F. look as I just keep crying and throwing these pathetic ass weak girly punches at his arms and shoulders that do absolutely nothing to him. He just keeps looking at me and I just keep crying, mud all over me, slap punching him. It was one of the worst moments of my life.

I weak punched him for about ten seconds before my older brother Joe, wearing MY oversized MC Hammer-ish parachute pants for reasons I never fully realized, runs out of his car (apparently he was there to pick me up and didn't notice me until he started laughing at the kids in the mud, then realized that the kid in the mud was me) and he throws him up against the brick wall by his neck like the Terminator. He threatens him, saying "Don't you ever fuck with my fucking brother EVER AGAIN or I'll fucking KILL YOU, you hear me?" He made my bully cry, something I'm eternally grateful for, and then he wiped me off as best he could and took me to his car so that he could drive me home.

I sat there in the backseat of Joe's car covered in mud and crying my eyes out. Joe's friend Schmike with the fake teeth was in the passenger seat and asked me how I was. I remember thinking "Why the hell is Joe wearing my MC Hammer pants?"

The kids never bothered me again. But I'm still haunted by his laughter as I'm covered in mud and my weak girly punches. That's one of only two real fights I've ever been in in my life. Since that time I've worked out and trained my fist and my knuckles to accept pain and punishment, which is probably one of the reasons why I punch walls at work.

There's a part of me that secretly wishes that I could get mugged or attacked or beaten up so that I could fight and let loose all this aggression I have inside me.

But there's a part of me that lives in fear of fighting again and realizing too late that I still punch like a girl.

That bothers me ALL THE TIME.


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