October 4, 2003

• I remember when I was a little kid, in, say, the 5th or 6th grade, and some kids wanted to fight me. I had no idea why they wanted to fight me, other than I was weak and puny, and they were mean.
  
  I mean, that's really what it amounts to. I could have been weak and puny, and if they weren't mean, there wouldn't have been a fight.
  
  There wasn't a fight, it turns out. My brother, who was in junior high at the time, I think, went with me. There was a small crowd of little boys my age there behind the school after dinner, and they were all talking tough amongst each other. I showed up with my brother, and one of them said, "Why's he here?" and my brother said, "Why are you guys here?" They couldn't argue with the logic of this.
  
  Then it was time for the fight to start.
  
  I had gone home from school that day, and, being me, told my mom that another kid had challenged me to a fight. Scott someone; can't recall his last name. There was much consternation about what the proper thing to do was. Mom and dad couldn't just send me back to get the shit beat out of me, and I didn't want to back down, even though I didn't need the shit beat out of me because I was already, as they say, scared shitless. I think my brother came up with the idea of accompanying me.
  
  So we went down there and after the posturing it was time to fight.
  
  We were all set. The other little 5th graders were all in a big circle around us, with my brother, Rob, looking like a giant among us. I bet he was hoping that none of his friends saw him out there at a fifth-grader rumble!
  
  I remember standing there, vacant, unsure how to proceed. I knew I wasn't Bruce Lee, and I knew I was probably going to end up in a lot of pain. The asphalt was hard; we weren't fighting on the grass. Bits of gravel and broken glass and plastic. The circle of boys had turned into a scene out of 'Lord of the Flies,' jeering us on, and feeding off each other's transgression of civility. As much as a 5th grader can know of civility.
  
  Scott whatsisname threw a punch and I managed to dodge it. And then his mother appeared, as if by magic, from behind one of the utility buildings there in the back of the school. Just, BAM, she was there. It was kind of creepy, the way parents could materialize out of thin air like that.
  
  I think Rob started laughing, and the while some of the kids looked horribly disappointed, many of them had sense enough to feign outrage and say they were there to stop the fight. So I suppose fifth-graders can know a bit about civility.
  
  I don't recall what she said, or what Scott whatsisname said, but I recall vividly that she grabbed him by the ear and pulled him away, toward the school building. They disappeared through a door.
  
  Then there was a quiet moment, where no one knew what to say. I think I was supposed to declare victory or something, but instead I just turned for home, with Rob.
  
  I'm thinking about this, because I'm reading a book called 'Samurai Chess,' by Gelb and Keene. It contains lots of interesting stuff that cross-references chess, the development of culture, and the development of martial technology. It also presents a standpoint, or attitude, about conflict and development. And it has this quote:
  

  "Chess is a sport, a violent sport... If it's anything at all, then it's a fight." --Marcel Duchamp

  Yes, that Marcel Duchamp.

  • 11:52 pm
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