That Time I Gave a Bully What For

This happened while we lived in Sugar Land. I was about 12 years old.

First, I have to explain that I never played with the girls. All they wanted to do was play with dolls, or play jacks or jumprope or hopscotch. None of them were interested in climbing trees, or wading in the creek to catch frogs and crawdads.

So I was one of the boys. Not just the boys in the neighborhood. Some of my male cousins, who were a few years older than me, lived close, so I was around them and their male friends a lot. The boys taught me everything from how to change oil in a car, to how to fight like a boy.

On the other street from the one we lived on was the neighborhood bully. All the other kids hated and avoided him. He was 18 years old and twice my size. I don’t remember his name; it was something very ordinary, like Bill or John. But I’ll call him Butch. He looked just like you picture a bully named Butch: a big heavy guy with no neck and a perpetual dumb expression.

Every time I rode my bicycle past him he would yell and threaten me. I just ignored him.

One day I was on foot walking past his house and he jumped me. He probably expected that little girl me would run away crying. Boy was he surprised. I beat the tar out of him. It wasn’t hard to do; he didn’t know how to fight!

So there we were trading hits and punches, when he suddenly broke off the fight and went running through his front door, calling his mother and blubbering like a little girl. I’m not exaggerating. I was momentarily startled as I stared at his retreating back disappearing into his house. I was too mad right then to see the humor in it, but every time I remember it I laugh. It was just like a comedy skit in a movie scene.

When I got home my clothes were ripped and I was covered in dirt and my mother wanted to know what happened. I told her and WOW!

I’m sure you’ve seen the films where the ordinary man suddenly starts growing in size, his buttons pop off and he turns into the Incredible Hulk. That’s what I picture my mother doing when I look back, except instead of turning into the Hulk, she because a big mean mama bear! She clenched her fists, squared her shoulders, and went marching out of the house. I eagerly followed behind her to watch the show.

When we reached Butch’s yard, his mother came through the front door, pulling him with her by his arm. “Look what your daughter did”, she yelled. “She tore his clothes!” Idiot! I was also in rough shape with my own torn clothes. I didn’t do that to myself! That woman had the nerve to blame me! ME! Her boy was covered in bruises and his clothes torn and it was all my fault! Didn’t that fool notice I was half her son’s size? And a girl to boot!

She and my mother began screaming and yelling at each other. I seriously thought they might come to blows! While the screaming match was going on, Butch was HIDING BEHIND HIS MOTHER, red-eyed and sniffling! That was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.

All of a sudden, the shouting was over. Butch’s mother pulled him back into their house, and my mother turned on her heel and stalked back home. She was still mad. I was highly amused, but keeping a straight face.

From that day forward, when I would go past Butch’s house, he would studiously ignore me as he pretended to be busy with something else. He never bothered me again.