I’ve never been in a fight. Not a fist fight anyway. I know, this somehow makes me less of a man. Believe me, I have an older brother who once told me those exact words. Fun, right? I’ve been in the verbal variety plenty of times. Given my family’s background, that should be a given. Let’s see… Irish, Scottish, English, New York/New Jersey, large family. Yes, the knock-down drag-out’s of my world have all been of the cerebral kind. In fact, it’s one of the impeti for my sense of wit. That and unimaginable tragedy. These two factors tend to spur on development of a strange sense of quickness and dryness. Unfortunately for me, this type of humor is a blessing and curse. I’ve been able to make many people laugh uncontrollably in my lifetime. I’ve also sometimes used humor to hurt people. The key is in learning to control it.
By the way, I’m borrowing from the Daily Prompt for this stream.
That being said, I’ve always wanted, as the headline in The Onion once screamed, to land just one good, clean punch. Seems like that would be a phenomenal rush. Most men I know have at least had fights with their brothers or school pals growing up. Not I. My brothers were all older, the living ones, and I guess I’m just too practical to ever let impatience over any situation resolve itself in a manner that could have left me, not bloodied, but with a single hair out of place. Remember, I grew up in the Garden State.
This morning at work I had to fight.
I fought the urge to steal this cute little lady and take her home.
A coworker brought his dog with him today. Boy that was fun, being able to pet the little gal. Something about a dog that really tends to lower one’s blood pressure and bring a smile to one’s face.
Let’s get back to brawling. As much fun as I think it would be to knock someone out I also imagine I’d embarrass myself tremendously. My punches would probably not connect and I’d end up slamming my poorly formed fist into a wall. That would suck.
Other men wouldn’t trust me to be on their side in a bar fight. I would be outcast from social circles. This would make me belligerent and likely lead to more fighting. Perhaps I would then have enough practice and eventually get good at it. Much scarring and bruising later I might finally be able to say “Yeah, I been in fights, tons of ’em. You gotta’ problem with that? Wanna’ dance, bitch?”
On the other hand, if you ever need to cut someone down to size in the kind of way that leaves more damaging mental scars than physical; I’m your guy. Why I can make you believe the worst in yourself and you’ll laugh while I’m saying it. It’s only when you’re at home that you’ll begin to ponder what I’ve said. Then, you’ll feel even worse about your diminished mental state when you have to look up half the words I used. But I’m also good at words with vague double meanings so you’ll doubt the whole thing ever happened. Years from now when you’re in group at Hazelden, you’ll eventually learn that you must let go in order to find true peace. Those kinds of scars will never fully heal.
And every one of my remaining hairs are still in place.