I normally consider myself a pacifist. I don’t believe in fighting and violence (Violence in video games don’t count). But there always comes a time in a guy’s life that requires him to don helmet and shield and fight. For some, that moment comes early in life when circumstances force them to literally take up arms. For others, it comes waay later in life when they fight their own selves in a virtual mirror match- an internal struggle that leaves them tired, haggard, but ultimately at peace (to craft wedding invitations or not).

You wanna mess with me, punk?

For me, the call to arms came when I was in my freshman year in high school. That was the year I transferred from a preppy, “upper class” school (read: swimming lessons, dance and ballet) to a more rough and rowdy technical school where we learned to fix engines, wired circuits, create metal tools.

As you would expect, my former school background ensured that I would be scorned and laughed at by my new classmates who considered me somewhat of a sissy. The taunts came often and became more cruel by the day. Then came the pranks. My water jug would suddenly go missing only to show up hanging from the gym’s ceiling later in the afternoon. My basketball inexplicably grew a hole during gym class and I ended up failing that gym class test ’cause I didn’t have a ball to bring to class. There were thumbtacks on my seat, notes pasted on my back. Though they were annoying me, I tried my best not to pay them any attention. However, that patience was bound to break.

It happened one sweltering afternoon during shop class. We were tasked to make a device designed to adjust levers on machinery from a block of metal. I’ve been working on my project for the better half of a year. I patiently sawed it (by hand), filed it, drilled it and made sure it matched the specifications of the draft. I was hoping to submit it as an entry to a contest sponsored by Bosch. I finally finished it and had just chrome-plated it when my teach called me up to the faculty room for a consultation. I left my precious project sitting on my work bench. When I returned, lo and behold, I found three symmetrical holes drilled into my project. For a full minute, I just stared at it in disbelief. Who would have the gall to destroy something I’ve worked on for so long? The faces of my tormentors flashed before me. I knew they’d done it.

Without a doubt I knew.

So I stormed out of the shop and into the school grounds. I was in a rage. I’ve never felt this angry before. It wasn’t long before I found them. They were lounging by the soccer goal guffawing and grinning- all happy at my obvious distress. As I approached, the ringleader (the biggest and rowdiest of the bunch) called out to me, What’s the matter? Holes in your gear puller? That did it.

I charged headlong into the group, grabbed the leader by his shirt and pulled him to te ground. He got up and started punching and kicking. I responded by lashing out with a series of punches scoring a few to his midsection and face. The rest of the gang was stunned at what was happening that they just stood aside and let us punch it out. However, the bully got the better of me as he was considerably waaay bigger. He kicked me to the ground and for a moment, I just lay there, the wind knocked out of me. I could hear laughter and I knew it was directed at me. I decided enough was enough. So I got up and charged for a second time. I managed to grab his neck into a chokehold and succeeded in pulling him to the ground. I then straddled him and proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the face until he bled. I suddenly was aware of a complete silence. I didn’t stop punching him until one of his teeth flew out and I felt hands pulling me and away from my adversary. It was his mates. They were begging me to stop. So I stood up, looked them all in the eye with all the hatred I could muster and walked away.

Not us, but how we probably looked like

They never bothered me again.

Oh, as for my adversary, we became fast and close friends.

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