The Ditch Paul Ruffin (bio) I’ll begin by telling you outright that I am not a violent man. But there are times when all the talk and reason in the world won’t address a threat that’s coming at you. When I was younger, I didn’t mind getting into scrapes when some kid messed with me. My philosophy was to walk softly and carry a big fist to knock the shit out of my opponent—not exactly an acceptable political slogan—which meant to conduct the fight, if it had to come, with one swift blow to the nose. If you do it right, all the lights in the house will come on in your adversary’s head when your fist strikes, and he will be blinded to the point of buckling to the ground, wondering what universe all those new stars are from, and generally the lights will dim real low or go completely out. The first time it happened, second grade maybe, a much older boy on the schoolbus kept turning around in his seat and poking me in the shoulder, and all I wanted was for the bus to get me home and away from him. But as the bus ground up the long gravel road toward our mailbox, it seemed forever in making the grade, so I just flung a fist as hard as I could at the kid’s nose, and when it smacked home, it didn’t hurt me at all, but he slid down off his seat onto the floor, with blood spurting all over. The driver knew that he was a bully and didn’t say anything to me. But he winked at me as I left the bus. It happened again three years later, when a kid stole my bike and messed up the chain. One blow to the nose. The thing about going after the nose is that you don’t come away with skinned knuckles or broke fingers—the nose just caves in, flattens. No bone there. Nothing but soft nose. You can hit a guy all day in the mouth or upside the head, [End Page 535] and likely as not, he’ll keep coming at you, and you’re gonna end up hurting your fist on teeth or bone. Land your fist dead-on on the nose, and all he wants is to shake those stars out of his head, forget the pain, and breathe again or go to sleep. And if you do it properly, his nose will swell up like a damned ripe tomato and both his eyes will go black, and you are not likely ever to have to deal with him again. What I’m saying is, it beats the shit out of any other kind of blow that you can deliver. A couple of years after that bike incident, I did it again when I hammered the boy next door for accusing my daddy of poisoning dogs, even when he was telling the truth. It wasn’t nice, I told him as he cupped his bleeding nose and tried to get to the safety of his house before I followed up the blow. If you do it right the first time, there is no need to follow up. My childhood confrontations were always conducted the same way with the same effect. After the age of fifteen or so, I never fought again. For one thing, my reputation was such that most kids wouldn’t dare mess with me. For another, I became more tolerant of the dumbasses of the world. I figured that most of them didn’t have the sense to breathe and stayed alive only because Nature made it impossible for them to die from not taking a breath. I always thought it was a shame that Nature had to fling that wide a net. I mean, dogs and cats and horses and cows and the wilder animals, sure, it’s OK for them to do dumb shit from time to time, but lots of people I knew didn’t deserve that kind of break. I’m telling you, there are some dumbass people out there, and...
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