My First Fight

‘THREE! TWO! ONE!” …..but honestly don’t remember hearing this countdown that was shouted out by the neighborhood gang that had now encircled us beneath the Buckeye tree behind Ben Avon Elementary School. We were 12 years old at the time. It was obvious to me that Jay was the fan favourite from our group of friends…..I was the enemy for now, which didn’t do wonders for my confidence. As I warily eyed my opponent Jay, who a week earlier had been my best friend, I was trying to figure out how we had got to this point and how I was going to win the fist fight. I wasn’t a fighter. Nor was Jay. But somehow, someway, we had had enough of each other and it was time to settle things once and for all. It had been a tough week….there had been some name calling but now a date was set for us to square off….and here we were.

It was the 70’s and as I had referenced in a previous post entitled ‘Fight Club’, things were just different. Fights before, during, and after school were not uncommon back in the day and they always drew a crowd. If the challenge was issued, you had to show up or your reputation would take a hit. Scores were settled – no one ever got seriously hurt, and life continued on. That’s just the way it was handled, decades before social media changed everything.

As Jay started moving towards me, indicating that the fight had officially started, I felt like I was having an out of body experience. As if I was sitting up on one of those spindly buckeye tree branches watching this bizarre scene unfold below. My heart felt like it was going to burst through my REO Speedwagon t-shirt, and never had the future Eminem lyrics, ” my palms were sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy”. been more appropriate… I had both my fists raised ready to meet my fate. Was I hyperventilating? Probably not a good time to try the paper bag trick as Jay was looking for any sign of weakness that he could use as an advantage.

I quickly went through a mental checklist of what I was going to do…actually, I don’t remember there being any more than 3 things on this list and they primarily involved channelling one of Hollywood’s top action stars of the time, Chuck Norris. It would involve a series of roundhouse kicks, a flurry of fists, and perhaps a hip toss for good measure to finish off poor Jay before he even knew what hit him. Now mind you, I had never practiced ANY of these moves in real life, but as the cool images flashed before my eyes, I thought I had a pretty good idea on how to execute them.

And then just like that it was over. I instinctively swung my right arm up and my right fist connected to Jay’s left cheekbone with a dull thud and then two things happened. Actually three. First off….Jay wet his pants. Secondly he hit the ground. And thirdly, (is this a word?), and unbeknownst to me at the time, I broke my hand. As the fight was basically a TKO, I was awarded the bout on 1 punch. Jay got up, we shook hands (my hand was starting to throb and swell), and went our separate ways.

In retrospect, things were a bit rocky between Jay and me for a few days, but things were back to normal by the end of the week. I wish I could say the same for my hand.

The main knuckle of my little finger looked out of place. It was still swollen and constantly throbbed. Finally I mentioned it to my mother because I wasn’t able to play the piano any longer with my right hand. It was hard to complete my homework and soaking it in warm water as my mother suggested, only made it worse.

After a week of this, my mother took me to see the Dr and he diagnosed it as a Boxer’s Fracture on my right hand. As he confirmed it with an X ray, he asked how I had managed to fracture the 5th metacarpal bone in my hand. He looked on sceptically as I tried to convince him that I had been running past a corner of a building and accidentally struck the corner with my fist. “Is that so?” he asked with a smirk knowing that 99.9% of the time this injury is caused by striking somebody or something with a fist…and that the 5th metacarpal is a vulnerable bone in a vulnerable position that cannot withstand the violent impact…hence it breaks. “Are you sure about that?” the Dr asked, giving me one more chance to come clean on the mechanism of injury. As I looked down at my hand, I meekly said “Yes, that’s how it happened.”

The following day I had a metal pin inserted in my right hand to stabilize the fracture and was casted for 6 weeks. Throughout that time period, I never once owned up to breaking it in a fight with my best friend and believe me, I was asked many times how it happened. I never told anyone the truth, even my parents. And as you can guess, nobody, and I mean nobody, ever bought the ‘corner of the building’ scenario that I was spinning. Go figure.

And when it came time for my final orthopaedic appointment for my hand, when the Dr. was removing the cast and pin from my hand, rather than trying to get me to confess one final time, he offered this helpful advice. “No more fights Alan, OK?” I looked up at him, nodded, and smiled.

As always, thanks for reading this post …appreciate your time…until next time!

Al