Pick Your Battles

There was a time when I couldn’t wait to go to school. Of course I'm assuming here because I can't remember a time when  I did. There was also time I couldn’t wait to get home after school. The home part was great getting there was not so great.

It was grade six I had just found out that the one thing I was good at was not appreciated. Sister Kinga made that clear. But the sting of the pointer had passed and I was drawing more things. I know I said that I had to draw escape routes for after school, well, not really but escaping the punishment I would receive on the corner of Westminster and Empress was real. 

I will not go into detail about how often it happened but I will say it made me shut down even more. At home it was different. At home I could hide. My bedroom was my safe place. I would wash off the hurt and lay in my bed and draw. My parents never knew what hit me and I wasn't going to tell them. It was a different time then. 

It might seem strange to say but I'm thankful and trust me I wasn't at the time but looking back on those beatings it taught me a lesson. How to distract and although I know distraction is not necessarily a good thing, it was in my case. It taught me how to use my imagination. In my mind I could create a better world. 

Suddenly, I had a reason to run home aside from the obvious one. It didn’t matter how bad I was beat in the end could draw a win. I lost myself in creativity and what I found was joy. However, I still had some battles to face. 

I wasn't the only smallest kid school. There was another kid, his name was Roger. Roger and I stood eye to eye. Litterialy. We didn't hate each other but since the other kid couldn't pick on someone there own size, I guess we decided we needed to. Someone had to be the toughest small kid. 

There is a patch of grass between the basketball court and the makeshift ball diamond this the place where all fist fights happened. It didn't matter if you were a heavy weight or a light weight. 

One day I had my knees pressed down on Roger's shoulders. He was pinned to the ground and helpless. I was on top and I was letting the punches fly.  His face was a little bloody and I felt bad so I got up thinking the fight was over. It wasn't over. He got up dusted himself off and kicked my butt.

Watching from the perimeter of the crowd was a guy in a suit with a military brush cut. A major moron our principle without principles, Mr.V. There he was towering over the onlookers heads, looking over his thicked black framed glasses. This wasn't going to end well. The crowd scattered leaving us in a cloud of dust. Mr.V. raised his crocked finger, didn't even say a word, he just pointed toward the temple of doom. His office. 

Roger and I waited for the lashing. You would think that I would have had thick skin after the rath of Sister Kinga's pointer. That was nothing compared to the pain this man would unapologetically inflicted on us. 

I remember the scene. A grin curled up the corners his lips and his bottle pop glasses slide down his pointy sweaty nose. His hairy eyebrows met in the middle, looking like one long anger caterpilar. His bloodshot eyes were focused on his target. The smell of garlic came out his pores. The pain was coming and I knew what I had to do. So I imagined it was a scene from batman. I wasn't the Caped Crusader, this time I was the bad guy. I was the Joker who got caught fighting. Every blow came with a comic bubble "wam" " bam" "twack"  but It wasn't funny. We use to say "Give me some skin" I'm pretty sure that didn't include rubber or leather, whatever a strap is made of. 

The above straping story was meant for your amusement. I improvised just a bit but getting the strap did happen and it was not funny. I remember we both walked outside and parted ways, thinking that being the toughest small kid didn't matter much anymore.

When I was in grade eight I hired the kid across the street to be my bodyguard. He was in grade nine and on the way back home he'd stop by my school and check on me. Man could he fight. Grade eight was a very good year. That's another story. 

The cartoon I was inspired to draw just to see if I could do it. I think it turned out.  I think I captured my principle.