"Dude, Gimme Back My Scooter!"

After yesterday's post my cousin Nick requested that I write more stories about him and my brother Russ ticking me off when we were younger. It got me thinking. Was it always them pushing my buttons or were the rolls ever reversed??? Yes, yes, they were.

Allow me to prelude this story by sharing a few experiences that will hopefully demonstrate that I posessed 2 distinct types of anger growing up. Justifiable, and not so justifiable.

In elementary school I punched a kid in the face repeatedly for making fun of a handicapped kid. I would call that justifiable.

On a seperate occasion, I exemplified "not so justifiable" anger. In 7th grade A small crowd had gathered in my driveway anticipating a fight. The fight was supposed to be between me and Mike Guard. Mike Guard had to be the fattest kid in the city of Phoenix. He could have crushed me! He had 1 year and about 180 pounds on me, and I have absolutely zero recollection of why he even wanted to fight me. However, I do remember calling "time out" just before the fight started and running inside. My heart was racing and I was shaking like crazy. My purpose in retreating in doors was to try and convince my older brother Clint to help me out. Our conversation went something like this:

"Clint you gotta help me dude, I'm about to fight Mike Guard and he's gonna kill me."
"Why are you fighting Mike Guard, that kid is huge?"
"I don't know, but he's ready to fight me and I was thinking because you're huge you should fight him for me."
"Bucky just tell him you don't wanna fight him, I don't understand."
"Dude he's in our driveway right now and there's a bunch of other people waiting to watch the fight."
"Well...Bucky....go be a man and fight him, I'm not gonna help you."

Some brother he was huh? I nervously made my way back to the driveway, thinking the entire time, "I could probably punch this kid in the face 20 times and he'd just laugh at me, pick me up by the neck, and throw me around like a rag doll." So what did I do? Well, I did what I would encourage anyone to do when fighting someone 3 times their size. I walked casually towards him, trying to appear as non-violent as possible, and then, in the blink of an eye, I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls.

The only thing I remember after that is running as fast as I could into my house, closing the garage door, locking the front door, and sitting on the couch scared to death that Mike Guard was gonna kick down my front door and sit on my face!

Sooooo... Now for the story involving me, Nick, and Paul. That's right, NOT me Nick and Russ... Me Nick and PAUL. The one and only PAUL! Nick's dad, Paul. Now according to Nick this entire ordeal began because I'd borrowed his scooter and he wanted it back. I basically thought that because he didn't ask for it back for a couple weeks than he was obviously not interested in EVER getting it back.
I thought wrong.
Nick came over one day thinking that he'd simply ask for what was rightfully his and it would be given to him.
Nick also thought wrong.

For one reason or another, I absolutely refused to give him his scooter back. I probably said something like "Dude, why do you want it back all of the sudden, I've had it for like 3 weeks. You never said a word until now! Just freekin let me have it Nick, you probably have like 5 more scooters in your garage anyways!"

Whatever I said, but more importantly, whatever HE said in return, made me SNAP! I started screaming at him and after I'm sure threatening to beat him up, he retreated quickly to my bedroom, locking the door behind him.

I began beating mercilessly on my bedroom door beginning a conversation that sounded something like this:

"Open my freakin door Nick or I'll beat you up!"
"Suck it fag! Gimme back my scooter!"
"Nick, freekin open my door!"
"No dude, not until you gimme my scooter!"
"Nick! Seriously! You're freakin askin for it dude! That's my room, now open the freekin door!"
"Suck it dude, I want my scooter!"
"Nick you got three seconds to open this door or I'm gonna break it down and freekin punch you in the face! 3... 2..." I heard the lock turn and I burst open the door.

Nicks face looked like he was about to wet his pants. Another heated exchange of words took place during which Nick, to his credit, did NOT back down. He insisted I was overreacting and that he just wanted to get his scooter and go home.

I don't know what the final thing he said to me was but I'd obviously had enough of his lip! I pushed him as hard as could causing him to lose his balance and fall directly into an empty laundry basket behind him. I believe he sustained "mild" injuries from the fall after which he held back the tears long enough to run out of my house and go home.

BUT... The fun didn't stop there. Oh no. Nobody messed with little Nicky without hearing from Big Paul. Precursor... Growing up Nicks dad Paul scared the ever living day lights out of me. The man could make you pee your pants without ever saying a word. I swear his half asian eyes could pierce my soul and tie my throat in knots, leaving me speechless. I wasn't even his child and I was convinced he had complete mind control over me.

Sooooo, after nick went home crying I knew I was in trouble. At any moment I expected his dad to just waltz into my house, without knocking, kick down my bedroom door, give me "the look," and then who knows what. Probably throw me into the same laundry basket I threw Nick into and say something like, "Try pickin on someone your own size."

Well, this isn't exactly how it all unfolded. That night there happened to be a social activity at the Church. It was a potluck dinner and from the time I walked into the building I had my eyes peeled for Paul. I wasn't even gonna try and stick around if he was there. A short time passed, and still no sign of Paul. I decided it was safe to get in line, get some grub, go back to my table, eat and relax. When I was about halfway through the potluck line I remember casually looking to my right and almost dropping my food plate.

THERE HE WAS! THERE WAS PAUL! IN LINE! WHERE THE CRAP DID HE COME FROM?!?! Not just in line though. The man had cut in line, as if to strategically place himself within "talking" distance of me. To make matters worse he had that cheesy grin on his face. You know, that grin that says, "Oh ya... I know EXACTLY what you did, and I'm about to tell you EXACTLY what I think about it."

I continued slowly through the line thinking, Ok I'll just stay in line, grab my drink at the end of the table, and exit the building as fast as I can. I never got that chance. Only moments after first making eye contact, Paul maanaged to skip another few places in line and put his hand on my shoulder. I may have pooped in my pants a little at this point. All I can remember him saying to me is this... "You can say whatever you want to Nick, but DON'T YOU EVER lay your hands on him! You understand me?!" Now at this point you'd think I woulda just shook my head yes and been done with it, but the little bit of arrogance I had left in me shined through as I said, "Dude, Nick sta-" but before I could finish my sentence he interupted me by saying "I don't wanna hear it Scott! Just don't put your hands on him!"

And that was the end of that. I thankfully managed to make it through the line without any unsuspecting bowell movements, after which I found a quiet spot in the corner of the gym where I could avoid eye contact with Paul the rest of the night. My anger in this story... not so justifiable. Pauls anger? In hindsight, completely justifiable.

Great times I tell ya.... Great times!