Another True Story: In life, you are either a child or step child of good fortune. When I was eight years old, I always felt like the latter. Thats because everyday I would go to school, I would have lifes sand thrown in my eyes. Then, as a blind man walking, I would have my butt kicked by a gang of godless bullies. Before you call me a wimp; there were six of them and one of me. To be sure, they were like an outlaw motorcycle gang I had seen in the movies: leather jacketed heavies, clad in road dust and turning every bar into a brawl. But the difference here is that these guys were twinkle-eyed, puppy-cute kids who didnt ride motorbikes on the open road but instead preferred to make it open season on kicking my ass. It is as if they thought that they had to come to school everyday just to teach me a lesson. Because without fail, these kids would beat me into a pulp. And they did this so skillfully that they would never leave even the slightest wound or scar on my person. So if I told anyone that I was receiving a routine beat down, they would think I was crying wolf. I am not sure why they hated me. These certainly werent racially motivated attacks since two of their society was black. Plus, I dont think I was that annoying. Sure, I liked to play the fart game as much as the next kid so this couldnt have made me a pain. Okay, I did have those purple bell bottoms that my mom bought for me but these kids werent fashion innocents either. Remember, we were all kids so we were bound to be fashion criminals since our parents couldnt reach across the generational gap to dress us up to the minute stylish. Really, why these kids hated me was a mystery to me at the time. It confused me the same way as when, as a kid, I would see dogs with their tongues hanging out of their open mouths while panting...were the dogs actually panting or just laughing, I would ask confusedly. Anyway, these kids were a tough crew. There was Mark; he was the kid to whom my sad tears were but a gleam to his eye, a sadist. Then there was Keith, the gerbil-cheeked dude with oddly pencil-line fingers and Chuck Norris round house kicks. Also involved were Niall and Alistair, the evil twins. Austin was the leader of the pack and proud owner of a whispery, breathless Clint Eastwood twang and quick fire wit. Then there was John. This dude was the fatal arrow in the quiver of the groups collective armory. He was the hardest kid in the school. Rumor had it that he turned a schoolboy into a UFO with an upper cut punch that sent him rocketing skyward. He had such raw strength that even our teachers feared him. This gang made it their mission to put me out of commission...until one day.... things changed forever. One Saturday I was watching television with my elder bro Martin and an advert on Dr Martens shoes came on the box. It was one of those commercials that got your blood bubbling over with excitement and offered a money-back guarantee that your full-blooded satisfaction would stay at boiling point. I watched it with single-eyed interest. When it was over, I wanted me a pair of those shoes. My bro, also gripped by the hosannas sang in advert, turned to me eagerly and said he could get me a pair. How, I asked...champing at the bit. My bro then led me solemnly to our shared bedroom where he reached deep under his bed and came up with two large black shoes. These are Dr Martens, he offered. My eyes opened goggle-like as I instinctively reached out to grab a hold of them but my bro pulled back and smiled smugly. He then asked me what I knew about these sacred shoes. Without taking my eyes off the shoes, I retailed exactly what the advert had told us earlier. My bro shook his head pedantically and then went on to give me his spiel on the true value of the shoes. According to him, the shoes could collapse buildings with a single kick. These big black shoes were the real Incredible Hulk, he taught. He banged on for about ten minutes in this vein, praising the shoes to the heavens. All the while, I listened with open mouthed shock at what these shoes could do and at the end of his lecture my bro rewarded my attentiveness by handing me the shoes. The handover was like a rite of passage. When I held them, they glowed with a mysterious power and the sky seemed to erupt with thunder as the clouds summoned the rain. Some great power had been unleashed.... My bro clarified that I couldnt own them but I could borrow them, for one day on Monday. I was beside myself with Thank yous and said that I would keep them well but my bro halted me mid-sentence: No...They will keep you well, he evangelized. Fast forward to Monday: I put on my hallowed Dr Martens, even though they were two sizes too big. And I was dropped off at school by dad, as usual. After he frowned at the size of my shoes, he bade me a good day and went on his way. I felt the intimate warmth of an autumn morning as I readied myself for a good day. Great news charged the air early as I heard that the scariest of my tormentors, John, had a dentists appointment and so was not in school that day. I could picture him being dragged kicking and screaming to his dental doom and I smiled darkly. My day was made even more blissful by the knowledge that I was wearing a deadly pair of shoes and nobody but nobody could mess with me now. So when I swaggered into music class that morning, I was just praying that the gang would bang on my door. And they didnt disappoint. In the middle of the class, Keith winked conspiratorially at his co-thugs and then stuck his tongue out at me. Normally, this alone would make me cry like a new born baby as I contemplated an immediate future of a smack down. But this time, I repaid the compliment and stuck my tongue out at him. And: all his cronies for good measure. The five of them shot me a quizzical You-Want-To-Die-Or-What glare as they tried to figure out how my stance had gone from cry baby to Bring It On, Baby. After their initial puzzlement, they all smiled chillingly as they rubbed their hands together with relish. And throughout the rest of the lesson they edgily looked at me with the glee of kids anticipating something new from Santa. They just couldnt wait to kick my ass and they kept looking at the wall clock to see what time was playtime as they kept running their index fingers across their throats in a mock slitting fashion. When the clock struck ten, it was play time. All the classrooms disgorged leagues of exhilarated tots onto the playground. When my class was empty, I got up and walked out onto the playground. There I found an open space at its center that sucked with an emptiness as all children steered clear of it, except five persons. At the center of the playground stood the gang: lined up like a firing squad. This was to be my execution site, I thought. I then confidently strode into it as an eerie silence settled amongst everyone on the playground. When I stood at a about a meter from the five, Mark rushed me with deadly intent... I promptly kicked him on the shin and he fell to the floor, wailing like an eight year old. Keith looked down at Mark with stunned indignation and also charged me: my right boot caught him on his left thigh: he also went down and cried like a kid who had just dropped his ice cream cone. Then the twins fell on me like a frantic pair of hungry hands would on a sumptuous meal. The three of us wrestled and were briefly tied up in a knot of struggling humanity, then ,suddenly, a succession of sounds rang out....Kabaam, bwok, bam, wham, whump, whack....as my boots stuck irremovable kicks on their asses like I was Bruce Leech. They all also went down for the count. I then stared sharply at Austin, the last man-child standing. And before I could make a move, he took flight....and Bang! He slammed head on and then bounced off an anonymous kid; his face took on a bloody hue as he went to ground, screaming. I had prevailed! The erstwhile bullies soon gathered the debris of their broken reputations together and ran away to their mothers. The rest of the school cheered me as a conquering hero. Days later, while no longer wearing the Dr Martens, Austin, Keith, Mark, Alistair, Niall and even John called a truce with me. They also came to the realization that they actually liked me as we became friends. My salad days had begun: I went from zero to hero. It was no longer Oh, No...its Matogo, it was now, Yo, Matogo!
Posted on: Tue, 04 Mar 2014 05:29:15 +0000
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