Damone versus Goliath

This story begins with me running. Not running to win a race. But running like my life depended on it. In the third grade, when you have a six-foot behemoth chasing you with the intent of bloodying your nose, you run as though your name is Forrest Gump and you don't look back.

So I trudged my way down the sidewalk, all 100 pounds and 4-foot, 11-inches of me running from the tyranny that was Tammy. Yes, six-foot behemoth Tammy. She was my school bus-stop bully in the third grade. She picked on me constantly, and at that stage, I couldn't really understand why.

As I grew older, I realized that she had that love-to-hate-to-like-you type crush on me, and because of it, she thought it be okay to try to crush my skull in every day to show me how she felt. She rarely tried to actually "crush my skull in," but she took pleasure in stealing my belongings and picking on me.

Well, on this particular day, she promised to pulverize me for what I don't remember. I do remember that she had a look on her face as though she might really do it. Her face always oozed evil, but this look was especially menacing.

So I started running. Running for fear of my life. Running for protection. Running because I preferred not to bleed. Running because it was my best option. Running ... ... for what?

Amid all my thoughts, I realized that I needed to stop running from her and stand up for myself before I actually embarassed myself. So I stopped running. With Tammy's galloping feet only a few paces behind me, I turned and threw the best straight right hand I'd thrown thus far in my feeble eight years of existence.

It connected on the bridge of her nose. She fell to the ground like a harmless fly and clutched her bleeding nose and bruised ego. I can't tell you how great that feeling was. Finally, I looked down on her with all the confidence in the world, and for one day I was king of the bus stop.

We were both called to the principal's office when we got to school, and I told my story while tearing up.

"But she's a foot taller than me and really mean," I cried to the assistant principal. "What was I supposed to do?"

Now had she been a hair under six feet, let's say 5-foot-11, I might have been screwed, and missed school for the first time ever on suspension. But that wasn't the case. Tammy really could have banged with Lisa Leslie and Cheryl Miller in the WNBA back then.

The principal agreed with me, and gave me a pardon while Tammy, who had been there before many times, was suspended for three days and a week from riding the bus.

I never ran from her again.