I couldn’t open the gate.
I was maybe 8 years old, and standing between me and my grandfather’s swimming pool that was situated in the middle of his assisted living complex, was this grumpy 10 or 11 year old who stood looking down at me from the other side.
I can’t recall his exact choice of words, but it rang along the lines of, “You can’t enter.” “What are you going to do about it?” “Make me.” Followed by a select choice of ugly, demeaning, worst-he-could-think-of adjectives.
Standing behind me was my sister and childhood friend, who was around 10 or 11 himself.
My sister and I didn’t really know what to say or do. And stood there like fawns soaked in white light… still trying to figure out what problems we must’ve caused?
My friend knew what was going on though.
This kid wasn’t upset, hurt, or offended by anything we did.
This kid was looking to upset, hurt, or offend.
And this friend navigated it by the book in the exact way I would teach it as a martial arts instructor today.
He kept my sister and I back. He spoke calmly. He told this kid we didn’t want any problems, we were just trying to swim, to relax, to leave us alone… and when pressed by the bully… at the exact moment when the bully reached out to grab and tackle my friend…
My friend punched him square in the jaw.
Dropped the kid in one punch.
Then calmly left him there to gather himself and walked my sister and I back to the pool.
We never had an issue with that kid again.