dys·func·tion /dɪsˈfʌŋkʃən/ [dis-fuhngk-shuhn]–noun
1. Medicine/Medical . malfunctioning, as of an organ or structure of the body. 2. any malfunctioning part or element: the dysfunctions of the country's economy. 3. Sociology . a consequence of a social practice or behavior pattern that undermines the stability of a social system.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Fighting Skillz

The year is 1999ish

Brother and I lived in the bad neighbourhood (with the gang) and we were latchkey kids.


We would take the bus after school and then begin our 30 minute walk back to our house. On the way, we would pass a playground.

Often we would stop and swing together, talking. It was relaxing and peaceful before returning to a... hectic house.

     Me                                                         Brother                                

There happened to be another kid who was....less than intelligent...who lived on the same street as us.

For all intensive purposes, I'm going to call him "Phat Boi".

Phat Boi
 Phat Boi had spurts of being tolerable and bigger spurts of being a giant wiener, but we had never had any problems.

One day he decided to approach Brother and I as we were enjoying our peaceful swing.

Phat Boi: "C'mon Brother, let's see your fighting skillz!"

Then he began swinging his arms in giant circles like a windmill while walking towards Brother.

This is a completely true story.

Unprovoked, Phat Boi punched Brother in the nose.

One hit.

That's all it took.

I don't know if Phat Boi was assuming that I would sit there and just watch as he tried to beat up Brother, but that's not the way I was raised. Plus Brother hadn't done anything...so Brother and I beat Phat Boi into the ground.

Me: "Alright. Let's go home."

Brother and I turned to leave.

Phat Boi: You b***!

I turned around to say 'What?!' but before I could get the words out he punched me in the mouth.

One hit.

Then Brother and I pummeled him into the ground again.

I actually blacked out with rage (not passed out mind you, but I had severe anger problems as a child, and if I got mad enough my vision would turn 'black' and I would see/hear/remember nothing) and when I came to Brother and I were kicking him on the ground.

Me: "Home!"

And we grabbed our backpacks and raced home.

I called my mom at work and let her know that we were home and had beat the snot out of Phat Boi twice. She sighed, but knew that we weren't instigators so she assumed we were in the right.

Not even twenty minutes later our next door neighbour was knocking on the front door yelling: "C'mon out! I just want to talk to you."

The view from our stairwell window showed the entire gang lined up in front of our garage, prepared to beat the snot out of Brother and I.

It turned out Phat Boi was a junior member of the gang.


My bad.

Thinking back, the fight that he picked with us was probably some sort of initiation for the gang.

The great news is that after our parents got home Phat Boi's mom wanted to talk to us. We met up outside and Brother and I explained what had happened.

She listened politely, asked a question or two, and after we were done she thanked us.

"I'm glad someone could knock some sense into him."

For the record, I am not encouraging fighting by any means. I am just retelling a story as it happened to me.
To quote Scout from Team Fortress 2: "If you were from where I was from...you'd be dead!"

1 comment:

ironman1987 said...

Impressive...I lived in the same place and I didn't think it was all that bad but hey moved from there before you did anyway :P