Why not? Well, because I just haven’t.
When I say that, I wonder if it shatters others’ image of me. I’m a 6′, 200 lb former pro athlete with a deep voice and a short beard.
I am very strong.
I could knock you out.
And I do have a very aggressive side, which I tapped into on the baseball field.
Yet throughout my life, I’ve done a good job of:
- A) Not putting myself in dangerous situations
- B) De-escalating conflicts
- C) Staying cool-headed and letting things go
Am I less of a man?
No.
Yet, I do feel a slight tinge of shame about it. Because society wants me to feel that way. Because a man is only a man once he’s been in a fist fight. Gone through that rite of passage. Come out the other side, bare-knuckled and bloody.
I wonder sometimes if others might view me differently if I disclosed this.
I’m the biggest, strongest guy in my friend group. And yet I’m the one who’s never been in a fight? Seems out of place for the very masculine, muscular fellow.
Fuck that.
I don’t feel badly about it.
Rather, I feel civilized. Like I’ve made the sensible choices my parents and teachers hoped I’d make.
And sometimes, fist fights turn into knife fights or gun fights. And I don’t own either.
Things escalate and people get killed.
I think there’s a time and a place to fight.
But I do not think anyone should fight just to fight. Or fight when walking away is an available alternative.
If you think I’m a pussy because I walked away? Rather than throwing a punch I know I didn’t need to throw? Then so be it.
Think what you want.
If you fight everyone who calls you a name, insults you or bumps into you, you’ll end up with a lot of broken noses and bleeding knuckles, with nothing else to show for it.
I’m fine with wearing the insult. I don’t mind your opinion of me, anyway.
Standing up for others
Part of my ambivalence to how society thinks of me is because I know what I’d do if a person hurt someone I love. I’d fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, for those I care about.
Yet, no one’s ever assaulted a girlfriend of mine. Or pushed my mom or sister down. No one’s ever threatened to fight my dad or swung on my brother. I would protect them without a thought if I was there.
But that’s never happened. And I’m grateful for that.
I’ve never chosen to fight when I could choose to not fight.
I’ve lived my life.
Drunken strangers in bars have bumped into me and chirped. I let it go. They can call me whatever they want.
I’ve been nose to nose with teammates, shouting at each other at the tops of our lungs. We talked it out when we cooled off.
I had a knife pulled on me one morning in a park in Seattle. I grabbed a road cone to defend myself. I again de-escalated and we both walked away (though he was later arrested).
Each time, words were enough. And walking away worked.
I’ve never been in a fight.
But I’m more of a man because of it.