Sometime over the weekend I was struck with an idea...find a random "have you ever?" question on the web somewhere, and answer it. So much of what I write is about stuff that's happening right now in my life, but some of the best entries I've read on other people's sites consist of them remembering things they did when they were kids, or growing up, especially through the lens of experience. So here goes nothing.
Have you ever hit someone forcefully?
Not as far as I can recall. I'm not a particularly violent person to begin with - if I ever hit anything, it's a pillow. I took karate classes when I was in middle school - just a couple of years' worth, I think - but I can't say I've ever used any of it, or if I'd even remember how to if the situation arose. Thankfully, I tend not to put myself in situations where a fistfight would come up; I've never been particularly into the bar scene or drinking myself into an aggressive, loudmouthed stupor. I'm also quite sure that my trash-talking skills are so woefully underdeveloped that I wouldn't be capable of inciting anyone to get to the point of wanting to knock a tooth out in the first place. There were always the wrestling matches with my next-door neighbor's older brother and the noogies, dead-arms and meltdowns administered as part of growing up male, but nothing beyond that. A meltdown, by the way, is administered by slapping your open palm as hard as you can between someone's shoulder blades. Stings like a sumbitch and doesn't go away for a while.
I can only remember one time ever being punched myself - my freshman year of high school. Our music teacher was notorious for being late to class (his students would always note with much amusement that his last name, Nardi, rhymed with tardy), so things would often get a bit rowdy before he even showed up. There was one kid in class who sat near me, a little pudgy, tremendously thick glasses - his eyes always looked HUGE through those lenses - and not the most graceful in the world. We'd known each other for a few years and were basically only friendly because our names were both Dave. At any rate, a couple of wiseasses in the class started ragging on him - for what, I don't remember, but who really needs a reason at that age? - and I must have had something to add to the conversation.
It must have been the last straw because as I turned back to face him after saying whatever it was that I said - it's been 12 years now, I haven't a clue what it was - I saw his fist coming right at my cheek. It wasn't a particularly hard hit, or it would have left a mark, but I do remember my head spinning around and the room getting awfully quiet after that. Mr. Nardi was still nowhere to be found, of course. And I just remember Dave's face, his lips tightly drawn up, almost daring me to say something else. I must have decided that I deserved it, as I didn't go after him, and within a week we were probably back to having lunch together in the cafeteria. We moved out of state at the end of the year and I've never seen or heard from him since. A web search just yields what must be his father, a professor at a local college (the last name is rather unique) but nothing about him as far as I can tell. And thus ended my career in violent crime.
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