My First School Fight

I don’t remember how it all started or what it was about really or even who won for that matter. I just remember that the gauntlet was thrown, my pride was at stake and the whole school was turning out to see me muster up and defend myself or turn tail and be forever known as a coward. The latter was simply out of the question so I had to muster up. The danger was not so much the fight but how could a God fearing Jehovah’s Witness who went out every Sunday to his neighbors to preach of the benefits of peace be caught in a fist fight. Somehow if I was to do this I couldn’t let Aunt (my Grand Mother) know as I would get a whipping when I get home and worst I could never let my father get even wind of it for I would get an even more terrible whipping. The latter was a tough one as a little ways down the road from where the fight was to take place was the grocery store owned by my aunt (real aunt, Aunt Lila, my father’s sister) and my father regularly stopped there on his visits to Lucky Hill. My fear of my father was tremendous as a kid and it was a close toss up weather to back down from the fight versus running the risk of my father hearing about it. But my pride was at stake and goaded on by my friends I chose to fight and face the consequences

I don’t remember my contender’s name but we agreed or more likely dared each other to show up after school out on the main road just outside of the school premises. This was the established arena for settling through physical combat differences that were too big to ignore or to reconcile through words. Ours must have started in the morning for I remember that by lunch time the whole school was abuzz with the news of the evening entertainment of my ensuing fisticuff. Secretly I was hoping that the whole thing would not happen so I was devastated when by lunchtime friends started asking me about this upcoming fight. I had figured that contender (he was the Headmasters son) would not risk engaging in a fight anywhere near to the school for surely he knew that his father as the Headmaster (principal) of the school he would have to come down on him pretty hard to dispel any show of favoritism. I guess I figured wrong. I remember that by evening the whole school was talking gleefully about this fight. I might have put up a good front but internally I was devastated and would have welcomed any out.

But evening did come and the big school bell signaling the end of the school day did clang not with normal sonorous clang of celebrating ‘school is over!’ but more the daunting clank of a church tower warning of an impending disaster. My stomach did churn and I was sure everyone could see beyond my posturing front to the fear in my face and the trembling in my knees. I think that day I felt that if the earth could have opened up and swallowed me it would have been a good thing. But non such happened and the inevitable moment did arrive. I had to leave the class room.

Walking outside I remembered being surrounded by my supporters. It was like the entire school was equally divided into two camps. I could see like half the student body was already outside of the school gate and the other half was waiting patiently for me to emerge from my classroom. Then on queue they surrounded me and escorted me out the school gate and into the arena. The moment of truth had come!

Sorry folks but I honestly do not remember much more of the fight itself or the eventual winner and looser. I think I must have one or fought valiantly for after that I was no longer a part of the background scenery but was allowed to now play with the bigger boys.

That was my first school fight and I can only remember fighting two more times, once at Ocho Rios Elementary school and that was against my best friend at the school, both before and after the fight; the second time was against my older brother, I had to show him who was boss, he was a year younger than me.

Next time I will try and fill you in on him.

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My Time At Lucky Hill

My times at Lucky Hill were mostly day trips with an occational summer vacation here and there. But one time I had to spend a whole year there for I remember going to Jeffery Town school there and in fact getting into my first school fight.

I can’t remember the circumstance under which I was sent to Lucky Hill to live but such was the life for myself and my nearest sibling. We both had episodes where we spent a lot of our childhood living away from our parents. His periods in Lucky Hill were much longer, more frequent and emotionally daunting than mine. But none the same I found mine was non the less vexing. Even as a child you realise that Lucky Hill life was not attracting. It was bush; there was no electricity, no running water, only an out door latrine and the kitchen was a shack with dirt floor and only wood fires, no stoves. I think I must have been about the age of 8-9 years old then and in fourth or fifth grade/class. I don't know the exact age I was then or what grades the school covered (it more than likely covred everything that was considered elementary or primary education) I only remembered that I was not old enough to play with the bigger boys but also was not in one of the younger grades.

Life in Lucky Hill meant hard work. A typical school day meant getting up before the sun comes up, and doing your chores around the house. This could mean going to the river to get water, chopping wood for fire for the day, finding the goats or donkeys or whatever animals that were tied out in one of the fields closer to the house and moving them to newer and fresher pasture or helping out in the kitchen to get the morning meal going. These were the chores for the smaller kids, the older ones had to go father and do a lot more. Only when your chores were all done that you could you could then wash up and put on your school clothes and go to school; which was a good three mile walk. When school was over there was no staying back for sports or any extra activities. You expected to hurry home to get your evening chores (planting, picking, weeding, feeding, etc.) done before night fall.

Then on Friday all activities reached a new frenzy as the final preparations were made to get ready to go to market on Saturday. All the stuff that you would be selling had to be gathered from the different fields and the hampers packed and ready for next morning. It was also the night that you did your cooking of coconut oil. This was our main cash crop so all hands were needed. Everyone would be up half the night grating, straining and boiling the extracted coconut milk down into oil. Then early next morning while it was still dark out you would be awaken to get the donkeys loaded and your bundle that you would be carrying on your head ready and then off to market you would go, trudging behind the donkey. And market was no 'round the corner, it was miles away.

Going to market to sell was not a favorite time for me. I was never any good at it and felt totally out of palace. It was not my thing then and is still not today. I am not sure why but I saw no thrill in it nor was I any good at it. Fortunately, either because of my resistance, demeanor, performance or simple ineptitude but I was not frequently selected to go to market. To this day I still find the task of selling very daunting. My wife just has to mention her intention of having a garage sale and I will find every excuse to disappear for the day.

But what I found even uglier than going to market was walking behind the donkey. This felt like the lowliest of the low and this feeling has stuck with me through the years. It became my point of reference for every disappointment. When I was in high school and could not afford football boots or track shoes or just lunch money for that day I always felt that things were still not so bad for at least I was still not walking behind a donkey. And even today when I am passed over for a promotion or endured some perceived slight my knee-jerk reaction is to turn the situation into a positive and commend myself on my accomplishments of how far I have come… from walking behind a donkey.

Do not get me wrong, Lucky Hill was not all that bad. For one, you were never alone. There were five of us kids there, so you were never doing a chore alone and being kids you could make a game out of anything. Even the night before market when you would stay up half the night boiling coconut oil would be fun. We would all be sitting around the fire, husking, grating, straining and cooking; everyone would be working but at the same time we would all be talking and telling stories and before you know it the night went by. We did not know it then but it was quality time, a bonding that cemented the family structure. I guess it is a part of what I am trying to recapture in these bloggs.

Oh, I forgot to tell you about my first fight. I will save that for next time.

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