You Have To Fight Back

I had a conversation with an old friend recently and she reminded of the time I punched a guy in the face who had attempted to grope her. It was over 30 years ago and I had nearly forgotten about it but it stuck with her because it was the only time someone had ever used violence to defend her. I typically think of myself as more of a "live and let live" pacifist who sees the wisdom in walking away from a fight, but I have to admit that there is something gratifying in being remembered as a sort of Clint Eastwood defender of women!

That got me remembering even further back when fist fights were a normal part of my life when I was 12 years old. We lived on the Ft. Hall Indian Reservation in Idaho at that time. I don't know if fights were a normal part of the culture or if the Indian kids always beat up the white kids or if I was just there during a bad year but I was getting my butt kicked at least weekly. The first time it happens to you is shocking and terrifying. I didn't know what I had done to piss this guy off and when I realized that an adult wasn't going to step in and save me, I basically just tried to cover my face and begged him to stop as I got pummeled. I also wasn't aware of the playground code of no tattling and went straight to a teacher with my story. The bully was punished but the next day on the playground, so was I. I still didn't fight back and the best strategy I could come up with was to stay in the classroom during recess, but this just meant they waited for me after school. I started faking sick to avoid school and my parents got involved and we had a meeting with the principal.

Mr. Broadhead heard my story and he sympathized but at some point he looked at me and said, "You have to fight back, Jim. They'll stop coming after you if they know you can hurt them." I can't imagine an elementary school principal telling a student that today but this was 1972 and it was some of the best advice I ever received. I started taking a few swings and would connect once in awhile, but it was a month or so before I got an official "win". Robert Blackfoot punched me right in the nose and I was losing blood through both nostrils. I managed to take the fight to the ground and get on top of him but I had to hang on with both arms so I couldn't really hit him. I did manage to get in a few head butts that didn't do any real damage but the whole time I had him down, I was bleeding all over him. A lot. His face and shirt were covered in blood...my blood. When a teacher finally pulled us both up by our collars, the crowd saw a little bit of blood under my nose, but Robert was a red gooey mess! I heard the impressed gasps from everyone as we were hauled into Mr. Broadhead's office. He chewed us both out but then held me back and smiled and congratualted me. He predicted that they would start leaving me alone now.

That wasn't entirely true, but the rumor did circulate that I had nearly killed Robby Blackfoot and I did get picked on a lot less. I still had to fight occasionally and I learned that if you were fighting fair then you weren't trying very hard. My specialties were the throat punch, the eye gouge, and using my elbows as weapons. Not exactly heroic type of fighting but the object was to hurt him as quickly as possible to stop the fight before getting hurt yourself.

Fortunately, my new skills were seldom used in the past 37 years and I hope I never find myself in a situation again where a head butt is necessary. But I hope I always remember Mr. Broadhead's very good advice. Sometimes "You have to fight back."