There were two fights in my little wing of our school today.
Neither fight had to happen. Neither fight should have happened.
Inner-city middle school students fight as play sometimes, but these were not play fights.
Students fight because their parents tell them that if they don’t fight back when someone says or does something to them, they’re wimps.
Some students fight because their self-image is so fragile that even the slightest negative comment about them is a challenge to their existence.
These students, and those whose parents are not abetting their violent ways, fight because they don’t have other strategies for dealing with problems.
My fellow teachers and I do our best to teach problem-solving strategies.
We tell the students that when someone talks about their mother it is not actually their mother, that the other students doesn’t know their mother and is making comments about some pretend mother that they all share.
I also tell my students that I am completely non-violent and that non-violence is stronger than violence.
I teach them about Gandhi, how we share a birth date, and how he defeated what was then the strongest nation on earth with words and peaceful actions.
We all teach them about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and how he fought racism with words and non-violent actions even when confronted with violence.
And I tell them the story of the only time I got punched and how I won the fight without doing anything more than taking the punch.
I was in middle school when it happened, probably about 11 or 12 years old.
I was a big, athletic kid, but I was just a kid.
One day I was the first student to come down the stairs and out into the schoolyard for recess.
As I came through the doors into the schoolyard I got hit hard, very hard, squarely on the right side of my chin.
My jaw seemed to go out a mile and snap back, but I did not crumple or go down.
I just stood there looking at the youngish man who had attacked me for absolutely no reason.
I just continued looking at the man as my mind raced to figure out what had just happened and why.
Then the man ran away.
I continued to stand there.
It finally occurred to me that the man had run away because I had just taken his best punch, absolutely cold and just stood there.
There was nothing more he could do to hurt me.
It was in that moment I decided that I would never practice violence.
And I never have.
My students always listen raptly to the story and seem impressed.
Some ask me what I would do if they hit me.
I tell them to try it, but I don’t think they believe me when I tell them I will not fight back.
I want them to realize that turning one’s back and walking away is a far stronger statement, far more honorable, than fighting to defend one’s honor.
I always hope that this story will come to mind the next time they think they need to fight.
It never does.