A New Breed of Shark

Let’s begin at age - 11 My father loved to tell me that deciding to do something meant you had to do it – despite it all! The way he saw it, if you didn’t stick by your decisions you’d actually train yourself NOT to make decisions and become a slave to the decisions of others. I can clearly remember him saying this two dozen times or more before I left home. The first time, I was eleven and nursing a bloody nose. His name was Daniel Harp. The place was the bridge near school. Walking up behind me with his three friends, he started by flicking my neck just below my Paige-boy hairline. He was determined to get me to react but I just kept walking. About five steps away from where the bridge turned into sidewalk, frustrated with my lack of reaction, he lifted my T-shirt up over my head and then burst out laughing. “She tapes her titties!” All of the boys got a good look at my “early birds” wrapped tightly under three layers of duct tape. They were hysterical. I knew the sky was blue just like I knew I would lose this fight. But my gut told me I had to punch him in the face if I had any chance of living down the duct tape discovery. I took the first swing, and the next two, hitting him squarely in the face each time before the other three boys pinned me against the side of bridge. Daniel got his swings in – my nose and “early birds” taking a good beating. When it was over we both walked away to opposite sides of the bridge. I wasn’t crying even though I wanted to. Daniel wasn’t talking. The three boys seemed shocked that Daniel and I just walked away. On my long mile-walk home I ignored anyone that asked if I was okay or even glanced in my direction. I was not okay. My chest was aching, my nose was bleeding and I was humiliated! I was the only girl in fifth grade that had to worry about wearing a bra and now everyone would know that I used duct-tape to hide my growing chest. I was already the weird kid; now I was something so much worse. As my father cleaned up my face, still unclear as to the real reason I had thrown the first punch because I didn’t want him to find out about the duct tape too, he told me the swelling would go down before school in the morning. I begged him not to force me to go to school the next day. How could he want me to be on the same play ground where Daniel and the other boys would be laughing it up? I begged. I pleaded. I produced tears. He wouldn’t budge even as he wiped the blood from my face. He said it was my decision to throw the first punch. “Make your decision and live through it. If it doesn’t work out, then make the decision –right- the next time. There’s always a next time, Charlie – if you’re the one making the decisions. Tomorrow, just show up smiling!” My life was over and he wanted me to show up smiling? To my total surprise Daniel was not at school the next day or the next or the next. No one at school knew about the duct tape or at least didn’t mention it. Instead, rumor had it that Daniel’s father gave him quite a beating for fighting with a girl and coming home with his own bloody nose. Later that same day, the principal called me into his office and asked me if anything had happened with Daniel. I said no. He pressed me and I kept saying no. The small victory on the bridge was now mine. I was determined that Daniel would leave me alone because I said so, not because the principal made him. The rest of the school year, no matter how many times we ran into each other in class, in the cafeteria, or on the playground, Daniel and I never spoke about the incident. And to my surprise I didn’t hate him. In a strange way I respected him. He never spoke about the incident. He never tried to belittle me about it or change the facts. He let it be what it was: two kids being hot headed and using poor judgement on a bridge. But… just in case… I stopped taping down my “early birds” for the rest of the school year. I was the weird-smart girl who dressed like a boy, had a bowl-cut hairdo, played catcher on an all-boys All-star baseball team, filled out a bra like a champ, and still wanted the girls to invite me to their Cabbage Patch Kid parties. My decision on that bridge was to NOT to let anyone push me around because of these things. If I had stayed home the next day I would have left my confidence on that bridge. Staying home would have been apologized for my decision. Right or wrong, my silence in the principal’s office was ME taking responsibility for throwing the first punch. I didn’t know it then yet it is clear to me today, by forcing me to go to school the next day my father made me stand up for my decision, to feel the effects of it, and to live through it so I could understand its power – and more importantly know that I would be able to handle whatever came next. Here is where the idea began to form in my head that I could take care of myself… I was already beginning to grow a pair…