Straight From the Bottle

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  • Hit Him and He'll Hit You Back

    I don't condone fighting by any means. I'm into peace and love and vegetarianism. I don't agree with guns. Or the death penalty or spanking. Or even yelling. I'm all for passing the pipe and loving thy brother. I have never been fond of haters. Of any kind. I wish we could all just get along and make out with each other. Or at the very least, play nice.

    Spectator

     

    When I was a little girl I was regularly pushed around. I grew up on a street full of boys who, annoyed with my cooties, threw rocks at my face, bitch-slapped me on the school bus and once gave me a concussion from pushing me off my bike. They called me "Becca woof-woof" when they weren't calling me other names like "Dog" and "Uglystupidface"


    I tried to pretend like I didn't notice. I'd get back up, smile and hold back tears until I was alone. Or in the house where I would wail and scream and snort all over my mother's jeans.

     

    I bought my own Vision skateboard and some Jimmy-Z shorts and tried to blend in with them. Maybe if I looked like less of a girl, they would teach me how to ollie off of their plywood ramp.



    I had no idea how to stick up for myself. And you couldn't pay me to push someone back. Or talk back. Or anything.

     

    I kind of assumed it was genetic and was afraid that Archer would be like me. Which is why when Archer got smacked in the face by the playground bully the other day, I did the cheerleading spirit-finger thingy when I saw him smack back.

     

    It isn't that I advocate violence. Not at all. I just don't want him to take anyone's shit. Or get pushed off his bike without some kind of defensive strategy. Even if he is wearing a helmet for protection.

     

    It's a crazy world, man. People don't play nice. I wish they did and we could all sit around in the sandbox and sing Koom-bi-ya, but we can't. People are angry. Crazy. Mean. And like to throw rocks in each other's faces.

     

    And although two wrongs don't make a right, neither does one wrong and one weakling. I know because I was the child in the sandbox with sand in her eyes and bruises from the boys in the neighborhood, who sat there like an asshole, crying her eyes out.

     

    And I REAAAAALY don't want that to be Archer. Because it sucked. 

     

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in

About the Blogger

rebecca woolf

Rebecca Woolf in LA

Who says becoming a mom means succumbing to laser tattoo removal and moving to the suburbs? This young writer and mother of two gives it to you Straight From the Bottle.

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