A Lover—Not a Fighter

The only real knockdown-drag-out fight I remember was in 9^th grade during art class. This classmate who shall remain nameless, mainly because I can’t recall his name, but who I later found out was a Golden Gloves boxer, punched me several times in the eye with his left, after which I dropped dazedly to my knees and, upon coming to my senses seeing, out of my “good” eye, Gladys Pokela with a cold paper towel, holding it on my eye while “chewing out” the boxer.

The fight started because I had accidentally smudged his “masterpiece,” followed by his reciprocating. And then the escalation began. I was more of a wrestler than a street fighter and threw my sudden adversary over 3 desks before he began using my eye as a punching bag. It was over fairly quickly and I have to say it was worth it. I had been trying to get “Pokey’s” attention all year.