(no subject)

[vicarz]

Roots

I remember the first time I saw roots. I had a "friend" Guierrmo Monzon, who enjoyed instigating trouble for me. Guierrmo had tried to get me to fight Bill earlier. I had agreed, but Bill was just a little boy and even girlier than I was. I was so not-afraid that I forgot the fight entirely and didn't show. I wasn't ashamed at the accusations that not showing was the lamest possible act, because I knew I was not afraid. But there was nothing to be afraid of, so it wasn't brave. I had lost a fight fairly recently, walking out with a nice shiner and broken hand - I think this was in the 8th grade, Montgomery Village Jr. High. I wasn't scared then, either.

Guierrmo kept telling a big guy, Chip Garthright, that I said "his picture looked stupid" (I think it was in a yearbook). He was in part of that freak crowd I think - that's how Guierrmo knew him. Guierrmo would lie to me, say he was going to tell him I didn't say it - leave our lunch table and go to his, then tell Chip I had said even worse things behind his back. After enough repeats of the accusations, despite my in-person denials, Chip decided he was going to kick my ass and announced it. See, in middle school you schedule fights. He told me where to be after school, and warned if I wasn't there things would be worse for me. He was huge. I was terrified.

Last period we were congregated in a room to watch a filmstrip - Roots (I think it was a film on a film projector). I watched this story about a boy who, defending his family's valuable animal, faces down a lion. It is noted that bravery can be trained, but courage is either there or not. He is then ambushed into the warrior training. He is chosen to wrestle a large experienced fighter, who pulps him senseless. After this display, a volunteer is called from the group - and Kunta Kinte (Jordie!) stands again. He knows the punishment that will follow, but he is brave enough to stand up and face it. I watched the movie, absorbing these ideals of masculinity and bravery, while watching the clock and edging closer to the door as it neared 2:30. At the bell I ran down the stairs, out the back door, dashed behind the portables, and tailed the trees away from the school. I darted across the road, hugged the gulley, scanned all directions before scaling the hill, and ran home through the woods. The entire time I thought about the images I had just seen, and added shame to my cowardly acts.

Jill once said that I talked about people as though I had learned all my social skills from after-school specials.

I saw Chip later at the county fair. I was with two long-haired guys - wearing open leather vests with no shirts, both had knives on them. I didn't make eye contact; he didn't approach or stare me down. Soon after that I took to carrying a weapon with me wherever I went. I felt better - never used the weapon on anyone though. I did pull the knife out on someone that was picking on me in the arcade of "the puttery," and while it led to laughter - it also stopped the hitting and being picked on by that guy. Back then the fighting was...different. I remember a fight that had a beer break. There were rules. I wound up sitting one day with the guy who bought us booze, homeless Tom (just Tom then), and Chip and his friend. Tom was far older than any of us, and Chip protested my presence because I was "a faggot." Tom explained that no I wasn't a faggot, I was cool, just be cool dude. After that I didn't have any trouble from Chip. I never forgot running away.

Tom later tried to set me up "with a guy that pays young boys to fuck him in the ass for $50." You see, it was ok if it was for money, and this guy liked young boys so the dicks were smaller. I declined.

Last time I saw Guierrmo was at the County fair. He had become a talented long-haired metal guitar player, and had a smoking hot girlfriend.

Comments

[novaya-zemlya.livejournal.com]

I remember the rules of combat. On one occasion in high school (this was in Texas), a friend of mine got into an argument with another guy. They agreed to fight it out. I think we were sophomores at the time. So between classes, they went out to the parking lot to duke it out. I was assigned to watch out for faculty by an entranceway.

As they were going at it, one of the coaches came up. I couldn't exactly run out and stop the fight, they were too far away, and I couldn't distract the coach. (This was, as they say, not very well planned out). I remember the coach walking up to me, looking past me into the parking lot at the ongoing fight and saying "when they're done, tell them to come to my office."

Ah, the days. No attempt to break up the fight. No counseling or whatnot. Just, when you're done, we'll work out the disciplinary bits.