The Fight

The Fight

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”
Muhammad Ali

The new kid in my seventh grade woodshop class was named Mike. He transferred in mid-semester. Mike was above average in height with long, black hair. I hadn’t even spoken to him, when I noticed that he seemed to have it in for me. Little things, like sneering and cursing at me, added to the effect. When we were assigned a workbench to clean off together, he used his bench brush to fling wood chips and sawdust in my direction.

Before long, Mike began to challenge me to a fight, which I declined having never been in one with someone who wasn’t a cousin of mine. So, he was as surprised as I was when, after he tripped me, I socked him on the side of the head. My only regret was that I hadn’t hit him harder. But it was hard enough for him to notice, turn around and punch me in the mouth. I had braces at the time, so the result was fairly spectacular, and that was the end of the lightning round of our two punch fight.

When I saw Mike the next day, he treated me like I was his best friend. I may have been his only friend, and even that is stretching it a bit.

Years later, I ran into Mike at a movie theater, and again, he treated me just the same way, like a long lost buddy.

I never did figure it out, but I know this: though walking away is usually the best policy, sometimes you have to stand up to the bully.