I think I’ve been in two, maybe three fights in my life. I mean, I’ve been punched in the face by two different people. And once in the back of the head. The first ‘fight’ was when I was in maybe fifth grade. It was a saturday, and me and my friend Mike were hanging out at the elementary school recess field. We were in the same class and became friends because of our shared love of The Ninja Turtles, specifically the cartoon that was all the rage at the time.

Some other little bastard for some reason got in my face and wouldn’t stop making fun of me. My bike was parked outside the soccer field fence, and I was at the jungle gym on the opposite side of the field. So me and Mike decided to leave and began our trek across the field. But this guy wouldn’t let up, and followed and kept making fun of me and my stupid large glasses. I said something in retaliation which I can’t remember, and this guy pushed me.

Ah, the push…….the sudden shift in every confrontation from the verbal to the physcial.

In Fight Club Tyler mentions how he wants to get punched in the face because he’d never been in a fight before. He wanted to feel what it was like. And so they met under Lamb Chop guy’s bar and beat the hell out of each other. (Although it wasn’t his place was it? It was Lou’s….LET US STAY LOU!!!) And all these guys felt so alive from the fighting. My 1999 self tried to understand, but I didn’t, although I accepted the concept and just moved on. I mean, they graduated onto Project Mayhem anyways, and I definitely understood THAT.

My 2007 self doesn’t really understand it either, because my fifth grade self just felt humilated and afraid. This guy shoved me, and that’s the point where I later fantacized I should have just pressed the start button and uppercutted the sonofabitch. But I didn’t, I decided at that point in my life that although I would always enjoy seeing people shooting and punching each other in the mediums of film and television, I however would be a pacifist (and a hypocrite) in real life. As I turned and left, I tried to pride myself in my life changing stance, and I acted like this little douchebag’s moral superior. Even though I was faking it and just wanted to knock him out like Soda Popsinksi and WIN.

He followed me though, got in front of me, and punched me in the face, sending my stupid large glasses flying off my prepubescent face. I was stunned. It hurt, but not as much as I thought. But still, I didn’t know what to do. I just gave this dude an acid burning stare. Then, back to being Ghandi, I calmly picked up my coke bottles, affixed them back on my face, blinked and walked past him to my where my bike (and freedom and shame) awaited.

“PUSSY!”

Mike never really talked to me about it. He was a good friend. I wish I was back to him. Eventually I stopped hanging out with him as a conscious decision because he seemed obsessed with The Turtles, drawing them all the freaking time. Don’t get me wrong, I drew The Turtles too. But he was a lot better than me. Maybe I was jealous, yes, but his obsession with all things half-shelled began to leave me cold. He also had the worst body odor of any human I’ve ever encounted before or since. (For that reason I just went to the top of this post and deleted his last name and pronunciation. Who knows, he might use technorati.)

Sorry Mike!