When I was a kid, my parents would always tell me that violence was never the answer to any problem. And I'm glad that they did. They were doing their jobs as parents to make sure that I didn't grow to become a violent psychopath. And honestly, I still feel like they did their jobs. I don't consider myself a violent person.
But I am no pacifist.
Honestly, there's a big difference between violence and self-defense. Yes, it's not right for a guy to punch another guy in the face simply for making comments about his mom or girlfriend. You should never use violence against somebody if they didn't harm you. At least not physically.
However, enter Mr. Thug with a knife. Yeah, anyone who says violence is never the answer to any problem won't be much help for you here. Now you're laying on the ground bleeding out and dying while Mr. Thug is happily enjoying his night in your car and ready to spend all your grocery money on beer and strip clubs. But hey, at least you were a good citizen and didn't use violence, right?
Like I said, it's not violence if it's self-defense. People generally don't deserve having violence inflicted on them. People who have self-defense inflicted on them, however, I don't usually have any remorse for.
Needless to say, as I saw a news report that two men had been found severally injured in the parking lot outside of the nearby supermarket, the only thing I was thinking was: "Serves you right, morons."
You might be wondering where exactly my story begins. Well, let's go back to my grade school years. Back then, I was what you would call a stereotypical nerd. I had it all. The glasses, the braces, the high grades in school, the obsession with comic books and video games, the inability to play any sports, you name it. The only thing I was missing was the acne. Then again, I didn't start going through puberty until eight grade, so it's not like I could control that. Oh, and I was also one of the smallest kids in the whole school. Another thing that kids are bullied for. Yep, I was just the perfect bullying target. Whoop de doo.
And no, the guys who bullied me didn't shove me in lockers, throw me in dumpsters, take my lunch money, give me swirlies, hang me by my underwear on a flagpole, or any of that crap that cartoons have turned into a joke. No, these guys were actual bullies. Legitimate bullies who tormented me so much that I eventually became terrified to go to school. Whether it was tripping me in the hallways, beating the living crap out of me each day, throwing things at me from a distance, taking my comic books and tearing them to shreds (thankfully, I eventually gained the common sense not to take comic books to school, although that did make recess pretty boring), and call me the most insulting names ever. And yes, verbal bullying is just as painful as physical bullying. Some of the names they would call me or insulting things they would say about me or my family would hurt me just as much as getting punched in the stomach or getting a swift kick to my rear end.
Did I wish I could beat these guys up myself? Oh hell yeah. I still remember drawing comic strips of me eating magic beans or something and then growing large enough to smash these guys into a flour tortilla. But "violence was never the answer." My parents would lecture me with these words practically every single day despite me clearly having new bruises to show them each time. And yes, my parents did care. A lot. My dad would constantly tell the principal that these guys were tormenting me and wanted them to receive some sort of punishment. Unfortunately, the bullies would only torment me whenever teachers weren't looking and other kids were usually too afraid of them to say anything. So they could easily deny everything. Not helping was the fact that the bullies' parents would always make their children sound like little angels and deny that they had ever done any of these things. So I guess the small, nice, straight A kid was a giant liar.
Needless to say, my dad wasn't really much help. If anything, he only made my problems much worse as the bullies would end up beating me up the next day for ratting them out. Like I said, I'm glad that my parents taught me that violence was wrong. The last thing I needed was to keep using violence to the point that I turned out exactly like one of these guys.
Like I said before, I did have friends in school. Unfortunately, they were no help either. They were just as nerdy as me and received almost the same amount of torment as me. I say "almost" because I received it much worse for being a lot smaller than them. So basically, I was trapped with no way out.
Or, almost no way out. I had one other option. The only option. And that was to bend the words "violence was never the answer" just a little bit.
Even as a kid, I knew that there wasn't anything wrong with fighting back if somebody attacked you first. However, I didn't bother trying for two reasons. One, I didn't want my parents getting upset at me for fighting at school (even if I was acting in self-defense, the school would still consider it a fight, that's just how the world works). Two, I couldn't fight back even if I tried. I was so small and weak that my attempt to punch one of these guys would probably hurt me a lot more than them. I was sure that the punch would just make them laugh.
It eventually got to the point where I no longer cared about making my parents upset and only wanted to finally teach these guys a lesson. In order to gain the strength to do this, I would have to finally take that first step. I knew it was going to take a while, but it would be worth it in the end.
Thankfully, by this point, my seventh grade year was coming to an end. I had an entire summer to get a head start.
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