I was eight years old and Ira King the bully was picking on me. I hauled off and hit him square in the face with my fist and then I started crying. He asked me why I was crying and I said "You are going to kill me" That was it.
I had a second incident at age 13 and it was a actual serious Fist Fight. Shiro had snapped my butt with a towel as I came out of the YMCA shower room and I socked him several times in the face and split his lip, cut his eye brow and gave him a bloody nose. We were both stark naked and he never hit me back. Shiro and I became good friends and stayed friends all through high school.
Aside from punching a guy in the nose- I had a fight in eighth grade. Was a big affair with kids sittng on roof tops and many surrunding us. Honestly I do not know who won as the cops came and we spilt. She hit me first and I began to whack on her then. My mother found out and of course was furious. Dad asked who hit first? Told him , was never mentioned again.
I'm still waiting for it to happen. Being the wonderful guy that I am, no one has had a reason to hit me yet.
As a Young Man living in Brooklyn you had to be tough I remember one time I took on 10 guys it took nine of them pull me out of the tree and one to kick the stuffing out of me.
Fight at around eleven. I was expecting the guy to spar with me. He hit me with a shot to my jaw. I saw black, shook my head, came back around, charged him. He knew, from a wrestling match we had the year before, where I put a headlock on him that made him cry, that he didn't want to wrestle me, again. He said he was done fighting. The crowd broke up. Another guy challenged me, a few weeks later. We wrestled, boxed, and then went our separate ways after five minutes. I'm still friends with both guys, some fifty-seven years later, although I haven't seen either one in some time. One wrestling holds fight at twenty-three. Lasted a few minutes, I let him go, we shook hands. That was it.
Yes, I do! I remember it clearly. 7th grade on the school bus. We were waiting in line for our turn to get out. Some jerk behind me was cutting my ponytail end (past the band) off with his pocket knife. I turned around and hit him in the face but my fist glanced off the side of his nose. He hit me back and about that time the bus driver got up and escorted us both to the teacher in charge and she took us to the principal's office where we both had our parents called. He got a 3-day suspension because he lied about cutting my hair despite witnesses and also for hitting back. I received an F in conduct for the year and had to miss recess for the rest of the year and write about why my hitting first was wrong. I spent the entire time with a cover page with a few sentences about the injustice of the system and underneath I drew schematics of radios and also plans for my new chicken house with an opening flap at the back for egg collection. I could collect eggs without cleaning chicken poo off my boots. I made my spending cash selling eggs. Most of my customers were my teachers. 50 cents a dozen for clean candled eggs from hens in a large outdoor fine wired area where insects were in danger. I remember the jerk's name and a few years ago I found him on Facebook. He was then a minister of a Baptist church in Louisana. Lucky for him he was far away because I neither forget nor forgive and if I was closer, I would go to his church Sunday morning and punch him on his right cheek in front of his congregation. He couldn't hit me back. If he wanted to turn the other cheek, great, then I would give him a fresh one on the left. I would give him inspiration for a spontaneous improvisational talk with Jesus.
The only fight/s I've been in were with my younger sister. She usually took up for me too. 'Nobody messes with my sister but me.' She was a tomboy.