Caucasian Trash Remembrance #12
A Thug's Life
When I was in the third through fifth grade, I got into a lot of fights. Our entire school had a lot of fights. I thought I was a tough little kid because I would get into a lot of fights and smack around some kids in my grade. One day I saw an older black girl, really tall and big, beat the hell out of a boy who was making fun of her. He was bleeding. I was scared from seeing that beating. I made a mental note: do not fight black girls. Not worth it.
A good friend of mine, Larry, was this stylish little black boy who had an afro and wore polyester clothing, very cool. (This was early 70's, say 1972.) I recall thinking how his style was much more hip and elaborate than mine. My style was tough skin jeans with about a 100 patches sewed onto the knees because I guess I spent a lot of time on my knees, and my parents weren't about to buy new jeans every time I wore out the knee. These jeans came in all kinds of weird colors, like bright greens, blues, browns.
Larry was my friend and even stuck up for me once in a fight. But I remember one day I got too big for my jeans and thought I could beat him up, or that I was somehow "badder." He promptly knocked me in the face and pushed me down. I was humbled and went back to the original set up where he would protect me. We stayed friends until he moved away.
I remember once fighting this kid who thought he knew some kind of marital arts. He practiced and took classes and wanted to try them out. I punched him in the face until his nose bled. I got into trouble for that, spanked by the principle and sent home, where I got spanked again by my dad.
By the time I got to fourth grade, I was losing my edge. I got into one fight with an older boy and he kicked my in the shins during some big brawl type melee. I remember running into the boys bathroom crying. My older brother told me to stay inside and keep quiet.
By the fifth grade, after getting beat up a few more times, I became more pacifist, and learned to make friends with tough guys who, because I knew them, would by association make other guys not want to deal with me and my friends. This is a strategy I maintained all the way through high school.
A Thug's Life
When I was in the third through fifth grade, I got into a lot of fights. Our entire school had a lot of fights. I thought I was a tough little kid because I would get into a lot of fights and smack around some kids in my grade. One day I saw an older black girl, really tall and big, beat the hell out of a boy who was making fun of her. He was bleeding. I was scared from seeing that beating. I made a mental note: do not fight black girls. Not worth it.
A good friend of mine, Larry, was this stylish little black boy who had an afro and wore polyester clothing, very cool. (This was early 70's, say 1972.) I recall thinking how his style was much more hip and elaborate than mine. My style was tough skin jeans with about a 100 patches sewed onto the knees because I guess I spent a lot of time on my knees, and my parents weren't about to buy new jeans every time I wore out the knee. These jeans came in all kinds of weird colors, like bright greens, blues, browns.
Larry was my friend and even stuck up for me once in a fight. But I remember one day I got too big for my jeans and thought I could beat him up, or that I was somehow "badder." He promptly knocked me in the face and pushed me down. I was humbled and went back to the original set up where he would protect me. We stayed friends until he moved away.
I remember once fighting this kid who thought he knew some kind of marital arts. He practiced and took classes and wanted to try them out. I punched him in the face until his nose bled. I got into trouble for that, spanked by the principle and sent home, where I got spanked again by my dad.
By the time I got to fourth grade, I was losing my edge. I got into one fight with an older boy and he kicked my in the shins during some big brawl type melee. I remember running into the boys bathroom crying. My older brother told me to stay inside and keep quiet.
By the fifth grade, after getting beat up a few more times, I became more pacifist, and learned to make friends with tough guys who, because I knew them, would by association make other guys not want to deal with me and my friends. This is a strategy I maintained all the way through high school.
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