Chapter 1: Sparring Partners

It was 1982 and I was fourteen years old. I loved Corvettes, the Chicago Bears, and lifting weights. I was the starting quarterback on the Franklin High School football team, I was captain of the Franklin High School wrestling team, and I was dating Courtney O’Neal, a straight-A student, head cheerleader at FHS, and the prettiest girl in Polk County.

Courtney loved he-man athletic types like me; maybe because she grew up admiring her dad, Vic. Vic O’Neal was six foot six and built like a tank. He was a local sports legend, and people still looked up to him and walked up to shake his hand in public, even though there were ugly rumors that he beat his wife Jeanette. Most of Vic’s high school records for football, weightlifting, and wrestling were still standing all those years later. I managed to break one or two, and that made Courtney love me all the more. That kind of stuff drove her crazy.

Courtney loved muscles, power and domination, and she would get really worked up watching football games or boxing matches. My mom said there was something wrong with Courtney, but I didn’t listen. Courtney had hair like Farah Fawcett, legs like Lynda Carter and boobs like Suzanne Summers, and I never thought about what was going on behind her big blue eyes.

Courtney was the one who talked me into taking Karate lessons over the summer. She had been watching old kung-fu movies at the matinee, and loved the idea of me to fighting for her honor. I had already missed two lessons when I signed up, but as I walked into the gym at PJHS, it looked like I hadn’t missed much. Everyone was doing these slow, jerky punches and kicks and shouting “hai”.

I was looking for the teacher, a woman named Gloria Valderrama, according to the slip of paper I got after I signed up. I heard a woman’s voice call out. “All right everyone, let’s pair off and spar.” I turned and walked toward the voice, but I stopped in my tracks. Miss Valderrama was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. She was tall and statuesque with fine features, golden brown skin, shining black hair, and an hourglass shape that even the rough fabric of her karate gi couldn’t conceal. “You must be Greg Campbell,” she said, smiling. I nodded. “Well Greg, since we have another student who missed the first two classes, let’s pair you two off for sparring. Becky, come over here.”

Becky? I couldn’t believe she was going to have me fight a girl. Especially not the girl that walked up. Becky looked to be about seven years old. She was so short she barely came up to my chest, and her gi hung off her like a circus tent. She had freckles and bushy orange hair pulled back into a pony tail, and she wore athletic goggles that were a little bit too big for her. “Greg Campbell, meet Becky Finklestein,” Miss Valderrama said, introducing us.

“I’m not fighting a girl,” I told Miss Valderrama.

Becky stuck out her tongue.

“That’s correct, you’re not fighting a girl,” Miss Valderrama said, leaning in to look me in the eye. But I couldn’t return her gaze because I was hypnotized by the golden brown cleavage blooming from the neck of her gi. “You are sparring with another student,” she instructed coldly. “There is no fighting in this class. Take a few minutes to watch what the other students are doing. I am going to start on the other end and work my way back here. When I return, I will show you both how to spar. We’ll have you caught up in no time.”

“Okay,” I said, managing to redirect my eyes to the karate teacher’s shining brown eyes. I noticed that she had a bruise under her eye that she had concealed with make-up.

“In karate, we say ‘yes, sensei,” she said. “Do you understand?”

“Yes sensei,” I said, and Becky echoed me.

I stared at Miss Valderrama’s butt as she walked away. “Hey!” Becky yelled. “Pay attention!”

“Shut up,” I said, as I returned my gaze to Miss Valderrama’s curvy backside.

“You’re gwoss,” the tiny redhead chided.

I chuckled. She was so young that she was still having trouble with her ‘r’ and ‘l’ words. “Shut up,” I said again. “I came here to learn how to fight guys, not seven year old girls.”

“I’m eight and a half,” Becky said proudly. “And you better be gwad we’re not fighting, because I’m stwonger than you, and I would beat you up in fwont of everyone. And then you would feel stupid.”

I laughed. “Shut up,” I said. “Just shut up.”

“You shut up,” Becky spat.

“Make me,” I said, “if you’re so strong.”

The tiny redhead’s face flushed as a scowl crept across her lips. “Hit me,” she said. “I dare you.”

“I’m not going to hit you,” I said. “If I gave a little girl a black eye I would probably go to the juvenile detention center.”

“I went to juvie last year and it’s not that bad,” Becky said, “now hit me.”

“You went to juvie?” I scoffed in disbelief.

“Yeah, for beating up stupid jerks like you. Now hit me.”

“I’m not going to-”

“Don’t hit me in the face, if you’re scared. Hit me in the stomach, or in the shoulder or whatever. And then I’ll hit you back. And then you’ll start cwying, and then you’ll feel stupid, and I can get back to learning karate.”

“Shut up,” I said, and turned back to watch the other kids sparring. Miss Valderrama was still way on the other end of the gym. Then I felt a sting in my ribs. The little brat had hit me.

“Hit me, you sissy,” Becky said, still scowling at me with her green eyes from behind her goggles.

“I’m not going to-”

Becky’s open hand shot forward, slapping me in the ribs. It stung a little bit more this time. She had quick hands for a little kid I thought. And her slap had some force behind it. The next one was a little bit harder, and actually hurt a little. “Hit me, you chicken,” she demanded.

“I’m not going to-”

The next slap made me wince. “I’m not going to stop hitting you until you hit me back,” she said.

I looked toward Miss Valderrama, but she was still a long way away. I remember telling myself that this was a no-win situation, having a grade school girl trying to pick a fight with me.

I had no idea how bad it was.

“Sensei can’t help you, chicken,” the little girl in the goggles sang, and slapped my ribs again. She was hitting me in exactly the same place each time, and each time she was slapping me a little harder. It was starting to hurt. She was pretty strong for a little kid, I thought. “By the time sensei gets here, you’re going to have two bwoken wibs, you chicken” she said, and slapped me again.

I tried to block her slap, but she was too quick, and I buckled a bit as her miniature hand found my ribs again. She started clucking like a chicken, and I saw red. Without thinking, I swung back. All of a sudden I realized what I was doing, but it was too late. My fist was rocketing at the ribs of a grade-school girl. It only took a second for my punch to land, but I crammed an hour’s worth of panic into my head. Would this get me kicked off the football team? Would I get expelled? Would I go to juvie? What would happen? As my punch landed, I wondered if she would scream or cry.