That Time I Was Beaten up by a First Grader(or Sorry Dad!)

Picture me, an enthusiastic first grader who is blissfully unaware of just how socially awkward he is. Lunch has just wrapped up and the line to the playground is forming. I had to go grab my jacket from our classroom so by the time I returned, the line was snaking out the door. As I approached the line, a beefy, blond kid who I’ll call John ran ahead of me to take his place. I didn’t even notice him and wandered over to the line, lost in my own thoughts as usual. I then inadvertently wandered in front of John in line. Big mistake. Huge mistake actually.

He playfully slapped me on the back of the head and told me to head to the back of the line. Now this kid wasn’t one of the extremely violent, psychopathic, future serial killers that you find in every elementary school class. He was actually a pretty likable guy. We’d talked about Legos or whatever the hell a few times before so I considered him a sort-of friend. I however, in that moment, decided that this was my rightful place in line and that I wouldn’t give it up for the Queen of England. We got into a bit of an argument about this and then, John decided to do something drastic. He looked me right in the eyes, dead serious, and said “Meet me behind the jungle gym.”

This was when I started to panic.

I scoffed and said okay, as all of our classmates were watching and I didn’t want to appear a sissy to them. The teachers led us outside and the second we stepped foot on the rubber flooring, John made a beeline for the jungle gym, with me and the rest of the class trailing behind. The teachers took a seat at the plastic table out front, beginning to gossip about whatever doe-eyed substitute they set their eyes on that day.

The jungle gym was at the very back of the playground, safely tucked away from the teachers’ line of sight. John and I turned to face each other in the back of it with all the kids crowding around to watch.

There were a few cries of “Fight!” and “Get him good, John!” which weren’t very encouraging.

I was really starting to sweat right about now.

I didn’t know how to fight! I dropped out of karate class and tripped over my own feet more times than I’d like to admit. I shouldn’t be expected to fight!

Before I could wave a white flag or protest, John came right at me, fists drawn. I was on the ground in half a second. The crowd erupted, with cries of “Yeah!” and “Kick his butt!” echoing through my head as the punches kept on coming. I was beginning to see double a little before John finally let up with the punches. He however, triumphantly sat on my chest, his 90 pounds of weight seriously constricting my breathing.

I waved a hand in surrender while desperately screaming “I give up!” and crying. I think I even pissed myself a little though I won’t elaborate on that.

After what seemed like all eternity, John finally got off my chest, dragged me to my feet, examined me for a bit, keeping a firm grip on my shirt the entire time, before throwing me back to the ground and scattering along with all the other kids, just in case a teacher thought something was up with all the screaming and crying coming from behind the jungle gym.

I eventually pulled myself back to my feet in order to assess my injuries. My nose was bleeding profusely, the area under my right eye was very tender and more purplish than usual, and my bottom lip had cracked and was also bleeding. I was also covered with an art show of scrapes and bruises. Definitely worth it for that spot in line.

I stumbled over to the teachers table and lied that I had fallen off the jungle gym. I guess I didn’t want the ass-kicking to repeat any time in the future but it was still dumb of me to lie. I was sent to the nurses office and my mom was called to pick me up.

I didn’t tell her about any of this. I just told her the same lie I told the teachers. She still doesn’t know the truth to this day.

Moral of the story; let people cut you in line. You’ll thank me later.