When I was in sixth grade, my little brother was in second. On Halloween that year we got to wear costumes to school (I was Darth Vader, clutched as I was in the throes of Star Wars mania). This is back in the good old days when one could still wear masks and carry props as part of one's costume- in my case, my cherished sound-and-light red lightsabre, in my brother's, a pair of cap guns- yes, kids, once apon a time one could bring cap guns to school (many was the recess spent busting a roll of caps with a rock). Much to my disgust, he came as a plain old cowboy.
Anyway, Brother's class got to the bus stop before mine at the end of that day. When I arrived he was sitting on the low wall surrounding the bike racks, crying. Some mean little girl in his class had pushed him down and taken his cap guns. He pointed her out to me, laughing and teasing him with them nearby with a gaggle of her friends. I walked over and asked for them back. She gave me such lip I'd never heard before from a kid that small. Well, after a few escalating exchanges, I finally just grabbed the damned things and wrenched them out of her hands. She unbalanced and fell on her ass. I walked over to Brother, returned his weapons, and thought the whole thing ended.
Minutes later, this ENORMOUS girl my age- but not in my class- was lumbering over. Apparently, she was the sister of the brat, angrily demanding to know why I pushed her little sister down.
Now, understand, when I was a kid I was a tiny, skinny little runt of a boy. A fearful boy, who up until earlier that year had never stood up to anybody before. This girl was three times my size and belligerent as hell. So understand, there was a tiny quaver in my voice when I explained to her her sister's transgression and the events as they had transpited, emphasising I never actually touched her sister directly. This infuriated her, and she thrust her arms forward as if to slam me against the brick wall behind me. Without thinking, I swung at her, catching her square in the left eye. It was not a hard hit, but she dropped like the '29 stock market. She sat in stunned silence for a moment, clutching her eye, then ran off cursing and crying. Little sister was stunned and ashen- I had felled her champion. She ran off after her sibling.
I'd like to say the entire schoolyard erupted into applause, but it was really only a few people clapping and cheering- apparently, this girl was a bully in her own class.
I didn't say anything about it when I got home. I shared very little of my emotions with anyone, and did not think anyone would understand this sense of pride and power I now felt. It also didn't seem appropriate to share the feeling in the principal's office the next day, where he, the fascist Vice Principal in his hideous green polyester pants, the outraged girl's parents (the girl herself- in a dress for the first time in her life, no doubt- sitting glumly with a big shiner), or my mother were all talking loudly. All I did was explain the facts of the incident much as I've related them here, and was sullenly and reluctantly corraborated by the girl, timidly by the little sister, and gleefuly by Brother. I got off with nothing more than a vague admontition to "not hit girls".
This was not the first time I realised that what people said the rule were, and what one could actually do were not the same thing at all, but it was a strong reinforcement of that fundamental guiding princlple of my life.
Unfortunatly, I also learned that hitting people was fun, and a lot of people suffered from that in the next three years, myself not nearly often enough.