Cutting through all the bullshit, an article on teaching a kid how to fight suggests one of the big problems with kids and the adults that they become.

“I laced up my skates and headed out to face the jungle that is childhood. When the boys confronted me again, I dared them to mess with me. One ballsy kid lunged towards me with the intent of pushing me down. Quickly, I kicked that kid squarely between the legs with my skate. He crumpled to the ground as I hysterically screamed at his friends, “I’LL EAT YOUR EYES! I’LL EAT ALL OF YOUR EYES!”

I have to say that I have only once been in a fight with some jerk with a water hose when I was ten, and once I was punched in the face by Kelly Connolly when I was in grade 7. I have never been hit in the nose or kicked in the crotch or wrestled to the ground in any angry, intentional fashion since I left junior high school. That said, I have stood up for myself against drunken rednecks and freaks, stared them in the eyes and called them on their bullshit; ready for them to try to back up their bravado.

1. Always Respond to Threats with Complete Confidence

Sometimes all it takes to make a bully re-think pounding you into a pulp is to make it very clear to him exactly how unafraid you are of a physical confrontation. When a bully threatens you, he is trying to invoke in you some fear in which he can feed off of. If you respond to his threats with confidence, even eagerness, it will give him a pause. If he doesn’t chicken out right then and there, he will enter the fight with a slight feeling of unease. His apprehension is your advantage.

I’m a big guy for standing only 5’7″ with wide shoulders that keep me from fitting clothes that my waist fits fine. The crazy long hair and the big head don’t hurt in making me appear scary when I want to be. When I lived in Calgary and hung with an unsavory element, I breakfasted late at night with a couple teen prostitutes, a transvestite, a drug dealer, and some other relatively innocuous individuals at Denny’s one day. Just to be clear, I was not a client of any of the people at the table at any time; they were just people.

This was my first meeting with the dealer who called himself Beetle; he was the only guy I ever knew who carried a gun. Apparently he later confided to one of the other attendees that he had seen me on the street downtown earlier in the week, and had assessed me as someone not to fuck with. Always nice to hear that a guy with a gun and a career selling drugs in a violent and mostly invisible subculture in southern Alberta wouldn’t want to fuck with me.

The only near fight I had that I can recall at this moment was one winter at Red Deer College. I had spent most of the day drinking coffee and painting, so I was a bit wired, and it was late. There had been a pub (special event in the bar) for one of the campus societies; possibly one related to Man-Sheep Love, or Baaaambla if I were to judge by the hick I ran into outside on the steps.

I came running out to the front steps, expecting my sister would be there waiting for me, as I was running a bit late. Nope, she was apparently late too, so I stepped outside and lit a cigarette. I was wearing my long dress jacket, and I may also have had on my favorite, Herb Tarlik style yellow and orange plaid sport coat. Hey, it looked good on me and contributed to my “How Nature Says Don’t Touch” outfit.

Some red headed, drunken hick was also on the steps, and asked me what was wrong; I said nothing, and carried on converting tobacco to cancerous cells. Well, apparently he meant that he wanted to know what was wrong WITH ME. He went on a bit about how I was obviously a weirdo, and words were exchanged; he called me gay in some sort of homo-phobic / homo-inquisitive Deliverance style and went on to the eventual redneck mating call; “Wanna fight?”

I, of course, said no. He puffed up and postured, and started playing chicken, moving towards me and backing off. I shook my head and kept smoking. My sister pulled up in the car, and I was anxious to get out of there; the idea of a bleeding nose or black eye bothers me – especially if they’re mine. I didn’t look back as I slowly walked down the steps, back to him. He continued yelling as I walked off, so I turned around once; to dispose of the stub of my cigarette by flicking it off towards his head. He didn’t chase me, but he shut the hell up as I made eye contact while doing this.

Oddly, in Vancouver there was a guy on a bus once that reminded me a whole lot of this guy, with the crazy need to fight any and all people in his air space. That guy I called Princess and laughed at him with his nose inches away from mine.

Back then, and even more so today, it became quite popular to advise your children to: Run. Hide. Look away. Go get someone bigger. Be afraid. As a result, modern children and adults alike are easily paralyzed by fear and have no idea how to defend themselves.

The quoted blocks of text are all from Violent Acres’ How To Fight article.