MANO A MANO

I was a big kid.  Many time mistaken for being “fat” -  I wasn’t really fat. But I did weight 190 in fourth grade.  “Big boned” my grandmother would say – she was always supportive and for her I could never be anything but handsome and a reminder of her father – who was also a big boned German. 

I had to buy clothes from the “Cubby” section in Frank’s Men & Boys store.  Being in that section made my face flush.   Frankly, being big was a burden that was far more than just being taller than everyone in my Bacon School class.

My size led to many bigger boys wanting to fight me. 

I was and continue to be - NOT  a “fighter” – I talk a good game, but have had two actual fist fights in my life.  The first was with Jay P. a second cousin, who called me "the wart hog" and was in sixth grade.  He had been after me on the playground every recess that fall of my 4^th grade year.   I will always remember hiding from him behind the girls jump rope cluster or over with the little kids by the monkey bars.  The worst part I was missing all the playground fun lurking around the whole period.  

This cat and mouse game went on until pimply Jay confronted me one morning right before we had to return to class. He grabbed me and said, “Hey fatso, want a smack in the mouth?”  His gang of greasy friends guffawed heartily. I just couldn’t take it anymore, even as the alarms went off in my head - “your mother will kill you if you get suspended for fighting.”  This the usual penalty for playground pugilism.

Just like one reads about at that boiling point of unbridled anger - I actually did see red that blotted out everything.

Then Jay tried his famous bear hug on me – I made a quick move to the side as he grabbed a bunch of air.  A move I saw watching wrestling on TV with my grandmother.  This was his undoing.  With a strong doze of adrenaline coursing through my veins and to my surprise - I picked Jay up (remember I out weighted this weasel by 40 pounds) and I easily tossed him against the school building wall. He bounced off it like a tennis ball and collapsed in a pile.  I prayed that I had not actually killed him.  He slowly go up - stunned.  His henchmen friends were stunned. 

I was really stunned!

Then he started to cry and gibberish came out of his mouth.  Was he speaking in tongues?  No!

I couldn’t believe it.  He was blubbering that he was sooo sorrrryyyy!  Sorry?  Sorry that I hurled him at least five feet in the air.  I started to cry then and heard myself saying, “I’m sorry tooooo!”  And our teacher blew her whistle and we filed back in for some more dreaded arithmetic. 

Jay never bothered me again.  

Neither did any other "big" kid on the playground.  His friends never said a word to me the rest of the year.  They just  gave me a lot of room.  And I learned a life lesson that day – sometimes one has to just stand and fight.  Running away doesn’t solve - it usually just prolongs.  

And I didn’t have to prove my manhood again for years.