I’ve never been one to pick a fight with anyone, especially out of pure malice, and the only two times I’ve ever intentionally been mean to another person were the product of stupid dares that I immediately regretted and that still bother me today, decades afterwards. I’ve just never seen the point of trying to hurt someone else on purpose for any reason. I realize there probably have been times when I unintentionally hurt someone, but that’s not the same thing — it’s the intent behind the fight or offense that matters.
Sticking up for myself when others attempt to harm me, though, is a different story, and I’ll face that sort of fight head on if need be. I’ll also come to the defense of any underdog I see being mistreated simply for the enjoyment of those stronger than him or her.
There are two times I had to defend myself during my early years that still stand out pretty clearly in my memories. Some parts of them are fuzzy, but I know that both instances occurred because another girl was jealous about a boy.
Ladies, the dumbest reason ever to fight is over a boy. C’mon. We’re better than that, or we should be, at least.
The first happened when I was a fifth or sixth grader. I know it was one of those years because the incident involved my flute, and I didn’t begin learning to play it until fifth grade. Since my earliest recollection, I was a boy-crazy little girl — in other words, I was really dumb. I liked boys, and they liked me, and in this particular instance, another girl liked the boy who liked me, and she was upset about that. So, she decided that she was going to beat me up after school.
As elementary school goes, once something is known by one person, it’s known by everyone, so before lunchtime that day, I already knew that I was the target of this girl’s wrath, and she was known to be a bit of a bully to other girls. I’d stayed out of her line of fire for years, and we’d even been friends, but on that day I was public enemy number one for her.
I think by the end of the day, she’d probably changed her mind, but when other kids have been promised a fight, they want a fight. Since I only lived three blocks from the school, I walked home every day, and this was way prior to cell phones and the ability to let my mother know that I NEEDED to be picked up that day, so as soon as the school day ended, I headed for home as fast as my legs would carry me.
It was winter time, though, and there was snow on the ground. I had hustled out of the school so quickly that I didn’t even have my coat on; instead, I clutched it along with my flute in its case and my lunch box and other items against my chest as I walked as quickly as the slick road would allow me to walk, all while a crowd of kids was growing as they trailed behind the girl who wanted to pound me into the ground. I rounded the corner of my block, and my house was in sight, so I thought she would ease up and let things go for the day.
That was not to be.
Suddenly, she was upon me, and she knocked all the stuff out of my hands. When the flute case hit the snowy ground, I freaked out because the flute had been expensive, and I knew how upset my parents would be if it got ruined. She pushed me and I pushed her back, and then I tried to pick up my stuff. There was general unease among the onlookers because they all knew that my house was visible from where we were, so there was a chance my mom would come outside and see what was going on.
No matter how badly they wanted to see a fight, no kid back then wanted to endure the wrath of another kid’s parents.
She must have seen that I was more concerned about my flute than about my own person because she grabbed the case, opened it, and threw my flute pieces into the snow!
That set off the defensive animal in me, and I lunged at her and pushed her down into the snow, all while yelling like a crazy person at her. This was meant to draw the attention of other parents or adults in the nearby houses, but I don’t recall it working. It did, however, make other kids uneasy enough that they began to leave, and when she saw her audience begin to thin, she also backed off.
I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was also crying by then. Out of frustration, disbelief, anger, etc. I hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve her ire. Some stupid boy that I don’t even remember now had liked me instead of her, and that had set her off. She’d then bragged to her “friends” that she wanted to beat me up, and those “friends” told others that, and then I was told, and after that, well, she had to go through it to save face, I guess.
After she walked away, I finished gathering my flute pieces and its case and trudged home. I don’t remember if I told my mom what happened, but I think I did, and I think there might have been a phone call to the other girl’s parents. I don’t remember how our relationship fared after that, but I do recall that we were friendly with each other in junior high. Then, she got pregnant early in high school and dropped out, and I didn’t hear from her again.
The second happened in high school when I was dating a boy from a neighboring town. He was an athlete and a so-called “popular” guy, so many of the girls in his school were upset that he wasn’t dating one of them instead of me. I attended a county dance with him, and as I followed him through the crowd toward the dance floor, I felt someone punch me in the back.
How cowardly do you have to be to punch someone in the back?
I slowly turned and eyed my aggressor. She informed me that I had no business dating one of “their” guys and that I shouldn’t be in “their” town. I laughed at first because I sort of thought she was kidding, even though she’d already punched me in the back. Then I saw how serious she was and laughed again in disbelief. Come on! I realize this was the ‘80s, but it wasn’t the 1880s when there were only so many eligible men to be found.
She came at me, and I ended things before they really began. I’d already been punched in the back, I wasn’t about to let her punch me in the face, but I was happy to punch her there. After she recoiled and checked her nose for blood, she must have realized that I fully intended to see this to the bloody end because my hands were both raised in fists, and I’d already shooed my boyfriend away. He’d tried to step between us to end things, but that only served to piss me off more. By then, all the bluster had gone out of her, and she quickly tucked tail and disappeared into the crowd, but not before calling me a few choice names.
Surprisingly, a similar thing happened years later when I was first dating the guy I was foolish enough to marry. He’d been seeing someone else when we met, and she wasn’t too happy to see him at a dance with me, so she also pushed me in the back when I happened to pass by her. I whirled on her so fast that she immediately threw her hands up and acted like it had been an “accident,” but I wasn’t fooled. I let it go, though, so I don’t count that as one of the fights where I had to defend myself or someone else.
These are quite minor fights in the record books of fights, but they stick out in my memory because I don’t fight or see the need to do it. Only when I’m attacked first and need to defend myself. Or when a friend or loved one is attacked. Then the mama bear comes out in me, and I will come to that person’s defense.
The following story is something I wrote years ago. I’ve added to it and revised it, but it isn’t finished yet. I would love your feedback on it. Should I work to finish it? Should it continue to be somewhat humorous, or should I take it in a darker direction?
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Tammy Marshall
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