Most certainly not now that I’m firmly embedded in my dotage, nor in my youth, frankly, have I ever been inclined toward fisticuffs of the physical variety.*
*As if there is any other manner of fisticuffs.
Truth be told, I came close to being in a fight only once in my life. Ironically, my propensity for using language as an attack tool played a role.
In English class my junior of high school, we were discussing something or another. And apparently I was more than a bit too critical of a fellow student, whose name was Frank, if I recall.
So much so, that Miss Miles held me after class for a moment and admonished me not to be so openly sarcastic in the future about another student’s opinion as I had been.
I walked out of the classroom, and the next thing I realized, I was laying on the floor, having been thrown across the hall against the lockers. Frank was, shall I say, displeased with how I had commented on class input.
He was ready to get it on right there, between 2d and 3d period. I had the wherewithal to suggest we meet after school instead to settle the matter. To which fortunately he assented. Continue reading Fan Moments IV: Smackdown in Stokely, Sorta