My First Fist Fight

Well, I suppose calling it a fist fight might be a bit of an exaggeration. We mostly rolled around on the ground. I am certain this one never made it to ESPN Classic and It only took me a two of these “brawls” to show me I was a lover, well maybe a liker, not a fighter.

It was a right of passage in the community I lived in. It was the way you proved you were a man. Up until that point everyone questioned, and if you didn’t handle it right, the questions would only increase. I don’t know how it worked in other towns or with other boys, but in my small town the way you reached manhood was to pick a fight with someone else, let the word filter through the school, and then step off school grounds and commence to punching.

I can remember watching some epic brawls, don’t tell my parents, at different neighborhood spots. I remember seeing blood and broken hands. I watched some real big guys from the high school go after each other. My foray into boxing lore was a much smaller affair with no blood and few punches, but it had to be done.

What you did was you stocked your prey. You looked around the school and tried to find someone who you thought you could take out. Now in the seventh grade I wrestled the lowest weight class possible, so it was going to be a tough affair to find someone who I thought I could take, but a man, or soon to be man, has to do what a man has to do.

I began to stalk a few guys who I thought had potential. One was the local Church of Christ preacher’s son, but that ended up as the second and final fight of my boxing career, so we won’t go there. I narrowed my prey to two possible choices. One guy whose name I can’t even remember, and another who ended up being my quarry. His name was Mike Trujillo. Now that may not be how you spell it because I don’t remember the spelling, just the name. Funny how I can see his fact to this day, and could take you back to the spot where our battle took place.

One sad note I feel I must add before moving forward. The guy whose name I can’t remember was my first choice. I began to taunt him and belittle him. I continued to goad him hoping that we would fight. Tactically this was difficult because he was a bus kid. He lived in the country and so it limited after school availability, but I still felt I could make it happen.

Unfortunately, our adversarial dance came to an end much too soon. I got into it with him one lunch hour that fateful spring. It was in the spring that we young bucks made our move to prove our manhood. He was having a friendly wrestling match with another student. I insisted on tagging in. After tagging in I immediately escalated the match from friend to foe.

It seemed I had picked my mark accordingly. He was going to go down. It was only a matter of time before I had my victory and my entrance into manhood. Unfortunately, the teacher on watch that day had other things in mind. He charged and I flipped him over my back. All that was left was the final few blows, victory was within my grasp, and then I noticed the sea of kids parting. Mrs. McDaniels was headed our way.

It was off to the office where I spent a weeks worth of lunches. No recess but worse, no victory. Not only did I have no victory but my prey saw that I was stronger and tougher. He never again even came close to fighting me. He avoided me like the plague, keeping me from my victory and my cherished manhood.

That brings us back again to Mike Trujillo. In my mind I had to do battle with Mike. The day finally came. I had pushed enough. We found some witnesses, you had to have witnesses. Who was going to score the affair? Who was going to return to school to regal the student body with the tale of manhood won? It was after school and I had a knot in my stomach. Had I judged correctly? Was I as tough as I thought? As strong as I hoped? I was going to find out pretty soon.

To be honest the battle was pretty short. I don’t think I even really got a punch in. He ended up being stronger than I realized. He got on top of me and all I remember is going into a turtle like defensive position until he had had enough. I still remember getting up and trying to claim victory. I sounded like Bernard Hopkins after a Jermain Taylor fight. I won didn’t I? I got some good shots in you know. The court of public opinion had me as the loser. Everyone at school was talking about the fight I lost. One down and manhood still not achieved. An empty knot inside because I had yet to measure up to manhood’s call.


Has anything changed?

In many ways little has changed. Sure, the proof might be different, no one expects me to beat anyone up, but the lingering need exists. Whenever I enter a meeting of ministers the question is always the same. How big? How many members? If you attempt to define your church by spiritual impact it’s a no go. How is everything going always seems to mean, "How many people did you have last Sunday?"

When did that become the measure of success? The measure of a man? Even more importantly, a spiritual man? Just like fighting in the community of my youth. How did it develop? How did it become so much a part of the understanding of how one proved himself? I never once asked anyone in that small town if I was suppose to fight, it was just understood.

I often think of these words from the gospel of John when asked about numbers.

“From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him. You do not want to leave too, do you?" Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God." John 6:66-69 NIV

I hear the passion in their voices. The commitment. The understanding that Jesus is it, period, end of story. They had such passion that Jesus was the only option. Others decided that the sayings of Jesus were just too hard. He was asking too much of them.

Don’t you think Jesus' action would have caused the leadership of his church, hear the irony of this statement, to call him in to discuss what He did wrong? "Jesus we lost over half the congregation with those remarks today, you either need to change your style or maybe look at getting back into carpentry work."

Think about the rich man who came wanting to follow Jesus in Mark 10:17-29. Can you imagine anyone who wouldn't be licking their chops at having a rich new member? I can almost see the elders doing the math as he approached. The man even says he is a good guy and Jesus never disagrees. The only problem Jesus finds is that the man puts money before God. Notice that Jesus only lists the commands that have to do with how you treat man, not God. How would people measure your success as a minister if it was you who said giving all your money away was what you must do to be a member of this church?

How about Paul? Why didn’t Paul start his correspondents with a head count? Why didn’t he start by asking numbers? Hey church in Corinth, have you outgrown your facilities? Could it be because Paul understood that, sure he planted but it was God who gave the increase? (1 Cor. 3:6) God gave the growth, not Paul.

I have often imagined Joshua, after the walls fell at Jericho, rushing to put out a book on warfare with some catchy title like, “The Marching Man’s Way to Siege” or “Trumpets and Screams for Modern War.” I can almost see the picture of endless copy cat marches. Would they have ended with the walls falling down?

Why do I still let people push me into a fist fight to prove myself? It didn’t make me a better man in the seventh grade, what makes me think it will make me a better minister twenty plus years later? I am going to stand my ground. No more fights. I am a wimpy puncher, George Forman I’m not. I will rejoice in the increase that God gives.

We had one person respond at the invitation with a need for prayer. She was worried about her cat. Praise God I was there to pray for her favorite pet’s safety. If Paul could measure success not by numbers, but by being in the will of God, it is good enough for me. I guess I will skip those boxing lessons.