I have this weird memory of almost beating up my best friend in the 8th grade. And it wasn’t so much getting in a fight with him, it was finding out my teach was watching me and waiting for me to hit him.

I had a sheltered childhood. Actually, I didn’t like go out very much. I preferred to watch TV and play on the computer. I did normal kids stuff like play basketball and run after tennis balls rolling in the street. But when it came down to it I’d rather be inside watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 and eating ice cream. What can I say? I was a simple kid.

But I got into a faux-fist fight with my best friend. I wanted to swing, but I fucking didn’t know how to. It’s like the cat that never learn how to be a mouser. It’s like trying chew food with a numb jaw. Things just don’t take hold they way you expect. And there I was, pushing this kid trying to figure out how to raise my fist and hit him in the face. I moved and before I could screw up the courage our recess bell rang.

I later learned from a fellow classmate who was doing homework by the benches (where the teaches would stand and cures about students under their breath) that our playground overseer was watching attentively at our little dance of bullshit fighting. My classmate told me our teacher was wishing in a stage whisper for me to land a punch.

I still wish I dropped that kid.