Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:

When were you last in a fight?  What caused it and who won?

When I was a junior in high school (1982-1983). 

I didn’t have a car yet, and had to take the bus to and from the public school I attended.  There was a guy who sat at the back of the bus, every afternoon.  His name was Kenny, and he was a scraggly, skinny kid who looked and acted like a drug addict.  At the time, I was a member of two Christian student groups.  I was also–as Kenny would soon find out–taking boxing training at the Mobile Police Athletic League.  As mentioned in previous posts, I was verbally (and sometimes physically) bullied in middle school and high school.  Kenny was the last bully–there’ve been none since.  I don’t know why he bullied me–I didn’t even know him.  He started calling me a “fag” (that annoying, totally unfounded word previous bullies had called me), on the bus.  I sat near the back of the bus, a few rows up from him.  I wanted to fight him then, but was afraid to fight anyone (which was the main reason I was taking boxing training–to get confidence in my fighting abilities).  This verbal bullying went on for a few weeks.  But one day, he moved up to physical bullying–and I’ll bet he regrets it to this day!

That afternoon, Vanessa, my next-door-neighbor and love interest, stood beside my seat, talking with me before the bus started moving.  And just as the bus left the school, Kenny came up from behind, and started punching me on the shoulder.  He’d been calling me a “fag”, but I’d ignored him–and I think he was annoyed at my indifference.  As he began punching, I became pissed off.  Not only was he bullying me, but he was embarrassing me in front of Vanessa! 

The bus was rolling along now, its driver apparently unaware of what was taking place.  I softly said, “Vanessa, move out of the way.”  And as she did, I stood up, and began beating the hell out of Kenny.  I wasn’t punching correctly, as I’d been taught in boxing training–I was swinging my fists.  But it was effective enough.  Kenny’s head was like a watermelon being pounded by one punch after another! 

Then a friend of mine from one of my Christian student groups (I can’t remember his name) got between me and Kenny.  “Get out of the way!”  I told him.  But he replied, “I can’t Scott–it’s my Christian duty to stop this fight.”  Damn, I was annoyed–this was no time for “Christian” crap!  Pandemonium ensued.  It seemed like everyone else on the bus was getting up and joining my friend in keeping me from clobbering this bully.  And as a result, Kenny got one punch through the crowd, in my nose.  But it was nothing compared to what I’d done to him.  Imagine–all this going on as the bus rolled down the highway!

Finally, the bus driver told me to get off at a bus-stop about a half-mile from mine.  I did, and Vanessa joined me, along with a couple other students from my stop.  And as Vanessa and my other friends walked with me to our neighborhood, I was ecstatic with pride!  That one punch to my nose felt like nothing.  But I knew Kenny was going to have one hell of a headache for a while!

So to answer the second part of the question, Kenny’s bullying caused the fight.  And I won.  

Now if you think less of me for what I did to that bully, and for how I feel about it to this day (still proud as can be)–you’ve obviously never been relentlessly bullied, so consider yourself lucky. 

0 Responses to “FROM THE BOOK OF QUESTIONS #7”

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