In 1994, I was a scrawny third grader with a simple life. I was a typical kid that liked to play with my friends, watch WWF wrestling and drink as much Surge as humanly possible. I didn’t have a whole lot to complain about.
But like most kids in today’s society, I had a bully. For the purpose of this article -- we’ll call my bully Jack.
Jack was a freaking lunatic. His home life was a disaster and with no outlet for his anger, Jack spent a majority of his time finding ways to inflict as much physical and mental pain on me as possible. He was bigger than me and absolutely fearless. One time he threw a speaker box (which held an incredibly heavy 12 inch speaker) on my foot.
Who throws a speaker box, honestly?
One day -- Jack went too far and gave me the worst beating of my very young life. My two older brothers noticed my scrapes and bruises and decided enough was enough. Later that day I rode my bike to the neighborhood park where I found Jack being confronted by my two older brothers. I rode over to see what was going on and my brothers pinned Jack to the ground.
“Hit him,” my oldest brother told me. “Hit him right in the face.”