I got to play father a few days ago. As my son gets older, these sessions seem to get less frequent, but deeper in terms of topic. We used to talk about him growing up to be a cow some day. Now we talk about girls and about being made fun of.
I was made fun of when I was in school. Unless you’re one of the popular kids, it’s going to happen to you. In my case, John Rohde and Harley Spaeth were the banes of my existence, calling me names throughout elementary and middle school. I took it pretty hard back then, not realizing that today, I could care less what John thinks of me.
In middle school, I got punched twice. I have been punched a total of three times in the face. One came from Marvin Hill, who punched me in the snot box in front of the portables that lined the cafeteria on the way to the McKnight Middle School band room. No reason. He just hit me, then walked away. Another kid hit me while I was riding a bike in the Highlands. I took a short cut where he and his two friends were. He socked me square on the jaw. Didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. The last person to hit me was my brother Jeff. Now, I don’t really count hitting siblings ordinarily. That’s just what brothers do. But we were grownups by now and he blindsided me with a left hook that gave me my only black eye. We haven’t spoken since.
And that’s it. On my end, I have never hit another human being. It’s not to say I don’t know how to hit someone. I learned how to deck someone in Spanish class. Mr. Vrandenberg, our substitute, didn’t know any Spanish. But he had just returned to Vietnam so he spent the period showing us how to hit through a person so they don’t get up after you hit them. I showed off my new found technique to my mother that evening, hitting the wall so solidly that I put a hole right through it. I don’t think she was impressed. But I did learn how to patch up a wall that day, another useful lesson.
That’s not to say that someone hasn’t threatened to hit me over the years. It’s hard not to have a guy want to deck you when he’s just discovered some pirate hitting on his girlfriend while he was in the bathroom or shooting pool with his buddies. On more than one occasion I have been tapped on the shoulder or pushed and the conversation goes like this:
Neanderthal: “What are you doing with my girlfriend? I am going to punch your lights out.”
Me. “Well, that wouldn’t really be much of a challenge, would it? You will hit me and I will crumple to the ground like a piece of paper. I will curl up in a ball and cry like a baby. Won’t that make you feel like a big man? And once I regain consciousness, I will be pressing charges and someone who’s even bigger and badder than you will be calling you sweetheart in your cell tonight.
“Or, I could just apologize and buy you a couple of drinks.”
I am not making this up. This has worked time and time again because there’s no glory in laying out a guy who’s just going to fall to the ground and cry for his mama. After I get through with this little speech they usually either don’t understand a word I’ve said (except “buy you a drink”) or they see the humor of it all and the fact that I am hardly a threat to their testosterone-infused manhood. For crying out loud, I’m wearing a floofy pirate shirt. How big of a threat can I be?
I am only reminded of this because my son was very upset a couple days ago. Someone on the school bus was ragging on him, calling him all sorts of immature names that men in their 20s and 30s seem to still resort to when they are about to get into a bar fight.
My opportunity to play dad was upon me. I told him about John Rohde, Marvin Hill, the guy in the Highlands, my brother and told him that they are just words, and that none of these people will mean crap to him when he is worth billions as a game designer and they are asking him if he would “like fries with that?”
He wanted to punch the guy out anyway. Sigh. I told him that he would probably be suspended on the last day of school, not be able to graduate and have to do 7th grade all over again. But on the upside, by the time he finally graduated from high school he could celebrate by buying all the guys down at the bar a beer.
Or he could do it my way. He was still not convinced. I finally told him the crumpled paper approach. He finally laughed. I think he saw himself in his dad, knowing that a sense of humor can get you out of a lot of problems, like when I pled “Temporary Insanity” for a speeding ticket I got once in Bellevue.
I truly don’t believe anything gets solved by violence, except that more violence occurs. I was born with a gift to talk my way out of situations and I think it’s one of the best tools I was ever given. It has not only saved me heartache, but a lot of pain, too.
I certainly know it’s going to come in handy when some dweeb-ass in the senior center accidentally knocks over my Scrabble rack with his cane. Sure, I’ll be tempted to give him an uppercut with my walker. But instead I’ll just whip him with my verbal skills. I only hope that he has his hearing aid up enough to hear me give him the old what-for!
Out on the Treasure Coast, knowing that violins never solved anything,
– Robb