One Foot to the Stars

Episode Seven: Baseball Brawl

After the sisters across the road moved away, a new family arrived including a boy my age. I will call him Jimmy. By this time, my friend Darrin had moved away and I had begun riding my bike farther down the road to play with the Thompson brothers, Dustin and his younger brother Richie. They were close enough in age to fight like cats, but also Richie was old enough to join us in football scrimmages, baseball drills, and tree fort assembly. The dynamics of the neighborhood were shifting.

Jimmy was in the same grade as Dustin and me. He was tall, fast, and strong beyond his years. He also wasn’t very bright and what we called “imbalanced.” Today, we have social awareness and interventions. Back then, we just stayed out of the way. 

One weekend, we all got together to play baseball in the open lot directly across the road from my house. I had a friend visiting from town, which meant we had enough people for a pitcher, batter, catcher, and two fielders. The games were far cry from actual baseball, but we still got whipped into competition as ten year old boys are wont to do. While on the makeshift base, for a reason I could not discern, Jimmy pushed me off of the bag. I walked back and stood on the base. He pushed me again. I recovered. He pushed me yet again, this time calling for the ball and trying to tag me out. When I pushed him back, he threw down his glove and postured for a fist fight. At this point in my life, I had never fought anyone. I had no real reason to fight, and was taught enough about Jesus in church to gather that fighting was a good way to end up in hell. Instead, I was learning to argue (Jesus seemed fine with arguing), but arguing had no effect on Jimmy who was now bouncing up and down with his fists in front of him. I mirrored his pose. The only fight training I had was from watching action movies and playing Kung Fu on a trampoline with my friend Shannon, a foster kid with a six pack (I swear, ten years old with a six pack). I was outsized, untrained, and unmotivated. Jimmy swung at me and I dodged his fist and retreated. Jimmy advanced and swung again. I retreated, again. Getting the pattern, on his next swing I ducked and then socked him in the mouth. He stopped, raised his hand to his lip, looked at his fingers, and saw blood. His eyes filled with psychotic rage. Foaming at the mouth, he charged me with a roar. I ran. We circled the heat-crusted field in a game of chase. When my flight path crossed a baseball bat left on the ground, I picked it up and spun around. “Don’t come any closer!” I screamed. Jimmy paused, a flicker crossing his eyes in what must have been an attempt at a thought. Then he rushed me. I didn’t know how to use a bat as a weapon, so I swung it as it was intended and smacked Jimmy across his thigh. He wailed and fell on top of me. My friend from town tackled the enraged Jimmy and then Dustin and Richie piled in to separate everyone. Nothing left to do, we picked up our equipment and went home.

Later, Dustin explained the whole thing was planned. Jimmy had wanted a fight. I didn’t understand, but it wasn’t long before we were all playing again as though nothing happened. Something did happen, though. I discovered, when confronted with danger and fueled by fear, I was capable of great violence. Jimmy had a bruise on his leg that lasted longer than it took for us to repair the friendship. It stuck with me, and while I have spent many hours sparring wits, I have avoided physical aggression. It became clear to me that day how quickly violence can escalate, and decided to avoid it.