I want to tell you about the one time in my life I’ve ever punched a girl in the mouth.

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds.

I went to sixth grade at Weatherford Middle School, where I was the shortest, smallest boy in school. I was picked on constantly, by teachers as well as students. People would always walk up to me and ask me, "What’s wrong with you? Why are you so short? What’s the matter with you? What’s wrong with you? Why are you so short?"

Like, what am I supposed to do – grow?

So that was my life, and it was miserable. I was that kid, you know the one – that small, sensitive kid who seems to have a target painted on him? Basically I was Milhouse Van Houten, though I didn’t really care about being liked; I really just wanted to be left alone. I never, ever got my wish.

One of the worst bullies I had was this girl named Kara. In high school Kara went on to be an All-American girls’ basketball player; where I was the shortest, smallest kid in school, she was one of the tallest, taller even than most of the boys. She had fiery red hair, aggressive freckles. You know who she looked like, actually? She looked like a female version of Scott Farkas from A Christmas Story. Which is fitting, considering what happened to him.

So one day I’m standing outside after eating my lunch, kind of huddled into a corner because then maybe no one would see me. Kara and her cronies – the girls who, six years later, would form a state championship girls’ basketball team – crowded around me and started shoving.

"Why are you so short? What’s wrong with you? What’s the matter with you? Why are you so short?"

"You think just because you’re taller than me that makes you better than me?" I spat angrily.

"Yeah."

No arguing with the logic of an angry, hormonal, gigantic, red-headed sixth-grade girl, I suppose. They kept shoving me, and poking me, and pulling my hair.

It should be mentioned here that my parents were well aware that I was being bullied at school, and they assured me that I was allowed to fight back, that, should the need arise, they’d go to bat for me, but that it was important that I learn to stick up for myself. I wouldn’t be in trouble at home if I fought back against a bully.

So, outnumbered six-to-one by the future girls’ ballers, I did just that: I fought back. I socked Kara right in the mouth, though she was so tall, and I so short, that my fist only kinda barely got her. I think I busted her lip, but that was probably about it.

It was all over within seconds; a teacher happened by just as the whole brawl started and broke it up. Problem was that it was a teacher who happened to hate me, who encouraged the other students in their mockery and bullying – yeah, she was a bitch, I have stories – and she carted me off to the counselor’s office, asking me how dare I hit a girl, we don’t do that, you’ll be suspended, how dare you hit a girl, that’s awful, you don’t hit girls.

She did not really have a response when I pointed out that the girl in question was a foot taller than me, and that there had been six of them. I had to call my mom at work and, sobbing, told her the whole story.

"Put the counselor on the phone," was all she said.

I was sent back to class with a tiny little lecture about fighting. The other kids didn’t leave me alone after that, not by any means, and after that year was over we moved. But no one ever said anything about it to me again.

It also bears mentioning that the week that this happened was the week that we were doing standardized testing, and that despite this incident I tested into the top 99th percentile nationally. Kara, as far as I know, had her moment of glory on the girls’ basketball team, but I have no idea if she went to college or what. At any rate, I hope there are no hard feelings.

Still, to this day, when I see that scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphie completely comes unspooled and starts wailing on Scott Farkas, I think about Kara, and I get a teeny bit riled up and start grinding my teeth together.