Face to Face and Fist to Fist

I remember being in 4th grade at Wetmore School. I attended there for kindergarten but had a blissful interlude going to first and second grade at Burrville School with the neighborhood kids, and Mrs. Tino and Mrs. Minnery our first and second grade teachers respectively.

Instead of taking a bus, we hiked over half a mile to school in the morning, then back home for lunch, and back to school after lunch, only to walk home at the end of the day. It wasn't uphill both ways, but at no time were we accompanied by parents or any adults. And yes, we did walk in the rain, sunshine, and snow.

To me, Wetmore School was very different than Burrville. Now we rode a half-hour on a crowded bus to get there and back again. Instead of walking home for lunch, we had to cross the street to the Vogel School cafeteria. Vogel was formerly Torrington High School where my mom and dad went to school.

Back in Burrville, lunch consisted of eating grilled cheese sandwiches and Campbell's Manhandler soup in the safety of my own home. Now, I had to eat cafetaria food with kids I didn't know. One day during lunch, I bragged to Charlie Williams, a fellow 4th grader, that I bet I could take him in a fight. I'm not sure why I made this boast, but it wasn't with any conscious animosity towards him personally.

I didn't realize how my words would impact him. Immediately, he was angry. Then, with tears streaming down his face, he challenged me to meet him on the playground after lunch. I never was in a playground fight before. I'm not sure why, especially because I went to Burrville School with some of the toughest kids in the world.

Once on the playground, I tried to avoid the fight by pretending to be an "airplane" with my friends, stretching my arms wide soaring above the world. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by the bigger sixth graders. Nothing was more thrilling on a playground than to hear dozens of boys chanting "Fight, Fight, FIGHT, FIGHT!."

By the way, I mention only schoolboys because, back in the day, there were no girls on our side of the playground. They had their own section and were not allowed to come on our side. This policy was strictly enforced.

Before I knew it, I was face to face with Charlie, ready to beat one another to a bloody pulp. We waited to see who would throw the first punch or emerge victoriously. There we stood, as if frozen in time, face to face and fist to fist, child pugilists, leaving our innocents behind; our introduction to the world of men.

But a circle of bellicose schoolboys chanting "Fight, Fight, FIGHT, FIGHT!" is bound to attract attention, and so it did. Male teachers patrolled the boys' playground like guards in a prison.

The fight was over before it barely started, which, I suppose in retrospect, was a good thing. While this was my first fight, it certainly was not my last. I learned difficult lessons the hard way. I realized that I can make an enemy by careless words, and things can become volatile at a moment's notice. I learned how to make a fist and fight another human being if need be. Throughout my school years, I got into many fights. I won some, and I lost some as well. And I learned that after a battle, most of the time, one time enemies could now become friends.

After that, Charlie and I became friends and never stood fist to fist again. I haven't seen Charlie since high school, though I see hints of him on social media. I hope he's doing well, and I wonder if he remembers this as well.