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My last fight was when I was 18, and it wasn't much of a fight. A guy from a rival town who thought I was after his girl (I wasn't) and, along with three of his friends, jumped myself and a friend of mine after a movie. The funniest part (irony funny) was that they jumped the wrong guy. All four of them grabbed my friend from behind, threw him down to the ground and started kicking him. I am not violent by nature, I'm the kind of guy who'll shrug and walk away from a fight because I've never felt like I needed to prove anything to anybody in that way. I just don't think that way; I'm not impressed by fighting. But that night, for whatever reason, I just snapped. I think it was a combination of guilt over what was happening and indignity at the unfairness of it. So I just run at all four of them, still kicking my friend. I don't have any idea what I did. The next thing I remember is getting pulled off of one by two sherriff's deputies. Two were on the ground, more stunned then hurt I think, and the fourth was just standing there looking at me with this weird look in his eyes.
I don't have any illusions. I was lucky that night. Driving my friend's car to the ER and then calling his mother to tell him he was in the hospital was probably one of the toughest things I've had to do. Thankfully he only had a concussion.
I'd never done anything like that before, and I've never done anything like that since.
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