Stories from my childhood: The fight that SHOULD HAVE ended before it started.

(by Michael)

I’m not proud of this, but unlike in the previous story, I did engage in some fights here and there throughout my childhood, even at a very young age.  The first brawl I can remember that involved someone other than my brother was when I was around 9 years old back in Jeaderville (as we affectionately called Jeader subdivision).  I had a friend named James who lived down the road from me about a mile.  Yes, we were friends, and no I don’t remember why we got in a fight.  I had another friend named James that lived next door to him (don’t worry, this won’t get confusing).  We were all the same age.  From what I remember, I was playing with the Jameses one afternoon in the yard between their houses when the fight started.  We were both punching each other, and after punching each other a bit we were ready to stop.  But James’ mother was not.  The fight had attracted the attention of all the neighbors, and people were standing around watching us.  They must have thought it amusing because I was a scrawny little kid, and James was obese, about three times my size (but the same height), which was odd because everyone else in his family was as skinny as sticks. 

His mother was mad that he’d gotten into a fight, and one of her rules is that if you start a fight you must finish it.  I thought we were finished, but apparently finishing a fight to her meant he had to “whip his ass!”  She would yell at him to whip my ass, and he would build up enough anger to try.  We’d swap licks for a bit and then stop again.  Then she’d start in on him again.  When he had really had enough he said, “I don’t want to, mama!” but that wasn’t good enough for her.  She said “I’m going to get my leather strip.”  Sure enough, she went in the house and came back out with a strip of leather about 2 inches wide that she used for disciplining her children.  I could not believe she would spank him to make him fight.  I guess it taught him a lesson.  She waved it at him, and he cried, “MAMA!”  He was really crying by now.  I was just wondering how I would get out of that situation.  She smacked him on the butt with the leather strip and yelled at him again to whip my ass.  That set him off again, and he came at me.  We wrestled around and ended up rolling on the ground.  He pinned me down and punched me a few times.  Then I managed to roll him off of me and get him down to return the licks.  We went through this motion a couple of times until I was tired of pushing his fat belly off of me.  I decided to just let him sit on my and punch me until he was done.  I realized it didn’t really hurt as long as I turned my head so he couldn’t punch my face.  When I did that, I noticed that my eldest brother, Brent, was standing in the circle of spectators waiting for the fight to finish.  By then it was dark outside.  He had come looking for me since I didn’t come home before dark.  We were fighting by street light.  I guess James’ mom was satisfied and told him to get inside. I was pretty embarrassed.  I think he was, too.  I got up and we left for home. 

I don’t remember talking about it to anyone after that, except Brent might have asked me during our walk home why we were fighting.  James and I never fought again.  We remained friends, played ball together, had sleepovers, and so on.  That fight always stuck out in my mind as one of the bizarre events of my childhood.  We were just a couple of little boys throwing the weakest punches imaginable, and probably for the dumbest reason.  I’d say it was the worst fight I’ve ever been in, but I don’t really know if that’s accurate.  Anyhow, I’m just glad it really didn’t affect our long-term relationship.