Fight!

I got challenged to a fight last week.

I had made it through school without any kind of friction by relying on my sense of humor and a well timed joke. After I finished college and joined the workforce I knew I had lost my timing and any idea of what might, or might not, be appropriate.

It didn't stop me, but I knew things were going awry. I was getting fewer laughs and longer silences. Physical humor was no longer working. I tried a bit of interpersonal joshing and BAM - I was meeting someone outside, after work, Friday. I had an entire day for preparation and I had never been in a fight before.

That night, Thursday, I found myself in my pyjamas brushing my teeth and worrying. Brushing your teeth is done in the bathroom in front of the mirror. I was brushing, but at the same time I was looking into my own eyes and I did not see any victory there. After rinsing, instead of going to bed and I went into the den where my father was watching television and perched on the arm of his chair. This was our unspoken signal.

"Why aren't you in bed?", he asked. I shrugged.

"What's troubling you?"

"I got into a fight," I said.

This made him look away from the tv.

"Did you win?"

"We haven't fought yet. It's tomorrow after work."

My father was silent, but he nodded his head.

"I don't recall you ever having a fight." He turned to look at me. "Is this your first one?"

I nodded. He took my arm and dragged me off the chair and around in front of him. He sat up.

"Fighting is a nasty business, so you can be nasty doing it. Stand up straight and put your fists up."

I held out my fists and looked at him over my clenched fingers.

"Those are pretty good fists," he said, "but you might want to move your thumbs out of the way."

I circled my fists in the air. My father arched an eyebrow and shrugged.

"When you're fighting, you don't really want to hit the guy too much because you might break your hand on one of his face bones. When the fight starts, do something like this."

He smacked at my head with his open hands. I beat back at him with my balled fingers.

"See. He has to hit up at your hands, leaving himself completely undefended down below. That's when you kick him in the balls."

He sat back and I lowered my clumsy fists.

"But I'm fighting a girl. I can't kick her in the balls."

He sighed and his chest sunk.

"Then the best you can do is lose gracefully."

"She works in the cubicle next to mine and I think I love her."

"Then you better hope she leaves you bleeding."