Small Stuff

The fight was dirty, fierce, and quick. It started when I tripped Matt Jarvis on the Soccer field in Mid-November of my seventh grade year, and he fell face first into the dark mud which covered the field. With all of the violent rage a thirteen year old can possess, Matt charged toward me ready to wring my neck, and all I could do was jump back before he did so. Removing his long winter hat with its fuzzy knitted ball at the end, Matt swung it at me. I responded by cuffing him in the face on the cheek. Before either of us knew she was there, Mrs. Patton came up from behind us ending the fight with her mere presence. Mrs. Patton was none other than the vice principal, who struck fear into the hearts of many.

No other person can compare to the candor and strict discipline of American General, George Patton who fought on the European stage in World War II. That is, no other person but the vice principal, Mrs. Patton. She pulled her dark blond hair into a bun so tight that it pulled the skin of her face with it, and her eyes almost squinted with its pull. Standing as tall as the principal with her stilleto heels, Mrs. Patton looked down at Matt and I, and I then knew how a gopher sees an oncoming semi-truck and is unable to move fast enough from its deadly path.

"Take a seat," she commanded.

Obediently we sat in the fifty-year-old wooden chairs, having forgotten that only moments before, we were bitter enemies.

"What do you have to say for yourselves?" Mrs. Patton asked.

We shrugged our shoulders with an empty and dumb expression, as if we did not understand what she could possibly be talking about. Our eyes which had held unseemly rage, were now vacant and full of worry.

Looking from Matt who still had a little bit of mud caked on his face to me whose face was a beet red, she said, "Well?"

Matt cracked under the pressure and related everything that happened from his perspective, which was surprisingly accurate as it neither condemned nor defended either of us from the punishment we were about to receive.

"Is this true Eric?" Mrs. Patton asked.

I nodded.

She reached across the desk and picked up her phone, and pressed a speed dial button.

"Officer Kercher?"

"Yes, I have two boys in my office involved in a fight, I need you to come in here and file a report please. Thank you! Goodbye."

"The SRO officer!? It was just a fight, and not even that good of a fight. What does he need to file a report for?" I thought to myself.

It seemed that Mrs. Patton read my thoughts as she looked into my eyes and even down to my very soul.

"Eric, Matt, East Middle School has a no tolerance policy towards fighting. I have called Officer Kercher to the office to file a police report. While he is filling out the report which will go on your permanent police record..."

"Our permanent record!" Matt exclaimed in obvious worry.

Mrs. Patton appeared annoyed at being interrupted, "Yes Matt, your permanent record. You fought. Don't interrupt me again. I will be calling your parents while he is filling out the report, and you will be suspended from school for the rest of the week." It was a Thursday, so it wasn't that big of a deal.

"When you come back next week, you will be attending Mrs. Griffin's anger management classes."

"Can I call my mom?" Matt asked desperately.

"No Matt, you may not, I will be calling her myself," Mrs. Patton responded. "I will tell her the kind of a child you were today, as I will also be telling your mother as well, Eric.”

I thought to tell her my parents were dead, but immediately thought better, as I knew that she would see through the lie and burn holes through my head with eyes lacking of any emotion or pity for the punishment that awaited us on the other side of the phone call she would make, no matter what story I told her.

"Why are you two fighting like this for, and is it worth it?"

"Nothing," we said in unison.

"No, I shouldn't have tripped him Mrs. Patton. I am sorry," I said.

Never had I seen the reaction that masked Mrs. Patton's face, but the slits that her eyeballs saw through widened as if in shock.

"It isn't me you should apologize to, Eric."

Slowly I looked over at Matt and let the apology out. He seemed to be just as shocked as Mrs. Patton, but was still too scared at the thought of Mrs. Patton calling his mom to really return the apology with any sincerity.

"This doesn't change anything Eric, but thank you. That isn't something that I often see."

Officer Kercher arrived at the point to fill out his report, and Mrs. Patton left to call our parents. His lecture was remarkably similar to Mrs. Patton's, leaving me to wonder if they had rehearsed the lecture together. He added emphasis that this would go onto our permanent police record, but if we didn't let it happen again we might be okay.

Matt's mother arrived shortly after and a trail of fire and anger blazed in her path. I could suddenly see why he did not want Mrs. Patton to be the one to call his mother. As Mrs. Jarvis signed the school's release form, she slammed the pen down scaring even the school receptionists. She glared at Matt saying, "Let's go!" and they left to a place where I am sure Matt was sure to receive a punishment and treatment matched only to the wrath of medieval dungeons I had seen in so many movies.

My dad arrived shortly after, and I thought about being nervous until I saw him look at me. His eyebrows were raised, his brow furrowed, and his mouth curved in the corners as if he were about to smile. He had signed me out with exceptional grace to the relief of the receptionists.

As we got out into Dad's aged truck with the dogs in the back barking at me with canine joy, I could see that my treatment would not be as severe. Letting the truck warm up, Dad let the necessary silence pass between us to signify that his getting me from school was indeed an inconvenience, but not a grave one, because he got off of work about that time anyways.

"So let me get this straight Eric," Dad began. "You got into a fight that lasted maybe two minutes, and you now get to have the next two days off of school, and get out of class next week to attend anger management. Is that right?"

I was taken aback with his bluntness, "Uh yeah."

Dad nodded, and slowly his mouth curved upward into a smile that dominated his entire face. "So this is the school's way of discouraging fighting?" he said incredulously.

"I guess."

Dad began laughing, and every punishment that the school had just thrown at me began to seem insignificant and resembled more of a reward than anything else in my dad's views.

His laughter was contagious, and I was soon laughing with him.

When the laughter finally died down, my dad looked at me with his smile slightly fading. "Don't get me wrong Eric, I do not want you fighting or suspended from school."

I nodded and began to be serious again, as I could see that this discussion now warranted a more serious tone.

"But boy's fight to resolve their differences, and I know that just as well as anyone else. You can do better, I know this. Mrs. Patton let me know that you were the first to apologize and that says a lot about you," Dad said.

"Matt just wouldn't let me play the game, it's like he had to have control or act like all the other popular jerks. I just got tired of it. I had enough, Dad."

"I understand, and sometimes you just got to let it out like you did no matter the consequences. But Eric, Matt really just doesn't matter, and neither do the other little craps, who act as if it is their entitlement. You just need to get used to it," he said.

I nodded, it was true.

"You just cannot change any of them, and fighting sure as hell won't help every time."

"Every time?" I asked.

"Yeah, you have to stick up for yourself and others sometimes."

"When?"

"When enough is enough," Dad said.

I felt relief, honest to God relief, and began to look forward to the time that Dad and I would have for the rest of the week.

"You will know when enough is enough Eric, but in the mean time just remember to not sweat the small stuff, and Eric, it is all small stuff."