8th Grade:
During intermission of the high school basketball game, my friends and I walked to the local convenience store in downtown Huntington, WV. It wasn’t the best part of town. I saw a person standing on a porch wearing a fishing hat. Beside him was a creature of unknown age and gender. The dude with the hat looked about my age. I had 5 friends with me–all much tougher than I. One was a black belt in karate and one was black. Thus, I figured I was well-protected. I yelled, “Hey, your hat sucks!” The Sidekick Creature replied, “You suck.” Naturally, I was last in line to buy my chips and soda pop at the store and as I left, my friends were about 20 yards ahead of me. From behind a brick wall, an arm shot out and grabbed my shirt. I looked up and realized that I had insulted someone with a mustache, a cigar in his pocket, and alcohol on his breath. I stammered, “Hey man, I’m sorry about what I said.” He drawled “Sorry ain’t f-ing good enough” and smashed me in the mouth with his fist. He hit me so hard that I ended up with my back to him after the punch. My white Catholic School shirt was completely covered in blood. I looked at my friends with confusion and fear and they said, “Run?” We all ran. I received 3 stiches in my lip and for some reason I lost those friends soon after. The only person in my class that would talk to me after that was a gay compulsive liar who told me that he had bladder surgery as a youth and the doctors had drilled a hole up to his bladder, giving him a quasi-vagina. He offered to let me explore it and in a crucial moment during the forming of my early identity, I declined.
9th Grade:
My older brother and I constantly fought as we drove to and from school. We carpooled with a couple girls whose lives we also made miserable. During an argument on the way to Maureen’s house, as we drove on an empty suburban street, I grabbed the steering wheel in a rage as my brother drove. My brother yelled, “Let go of the wheel! Let…go…of..the…” Then he punched me in the nose. A single drop of blood dripped onto my bookbag. I hysterically demanded to be brought back home, saying that there was no way I was going to school. I think subconsciously, I simply wanted to stay home to watch TV. My Mom was furious, and when I pointed out the single drop of blood on my bookbag, she ordered me to go to school.
Age 22:
On my 22nd birthday, I got off work at about 11:00 PM and by 2:00 AM, I was wasted. I left the apartment to grab CDs from my car, which I was hoping to force upon the party gathered in the apartment. Maybe the soundtrack to The Crow or something like that. The nearby bar was closing and from across a field, I heard a couple very drunk people yelling.as they went to their cars. In a classic replay from 8th Grade, I screamed, “Shut the f– up!” They responded in kind, I shouted back again, and then I noticed 3 people running across the field towards me. Since my birthday is October 29th, they were dressed up for Halloween. Each was wearing women’s clothing. I was smashed in the face with a fist. I managed to come away from the incident with one of the dude’s purses.
Age 30:
The biannual Hookahville music festival is populated by many of my friends and many great people. But there are also a lot of freaks on way too many drugs, running around naked, claiming to be Jesus, and generally irritating me. One night after the music had ended, I was walking along a dirt road when a kid ran through the crowd, muttering “Sorry, I’m sorry” and then stopped in front of me, gave me a crazed look, said, “I’m sorry,” and punched me in the face. He continued down the road, karate-kicked a girl sitting in the grass, and was tackled by a bunch of hippies who decided to finally restrain the fellow who had assaulted a dozen people in the campsite. I heard he had picked up a citronella tiki torch and had swung it like a baseball bat at people’s heads. The local cops brought him up to the top of the hill, cuffed him, mocked him, and handed him over to the medical tent, who strapped him to a board overnight until the drugs wore off.
Age 31:
After a night of live music, my friend and I were walking to the car. We were jumped from behind. I was put into a choke hold, thrown on my back, and punched in the face. They took our wallets. My friend was hospitalized and had his jaw wired shut for 6 weeks. This story is not particularly funny. Sorry.
Although I have been punched in the face many times, what is more fascinating to me is the idea that there have probably been many, many more times that I was almost punched in the face. I imagine they number in the dozens. A year ago, I got into an argument with a friend who threw a cup of hot coffee into my lap. I think the only other option for him was to punch me in the face. Thank God he had that cup of coffee.
Here’s hoping for a 2006 that does not involve me getting punched in the face. I’m afraid I might be due, so wish me luck.
