Becoming a Man in the Shadowlands: a Survivor's Story
Copyright© 2019 by Dennis Randall
Chapter 25: Fighting for Rank
I managed to survive high school by keeping a low profile.
“Low profile” in my case remained elusive since my stepfather happened to be the minister of the oldest church in town. By default, I became the resident PK, or Preacher’s Kid.
The title offered a mixed blessing. As the stepson of a man who made his living by talking to the Almighty, my status was uncertain. The theology around beating up the son of a man of God remained unexplored.
One of the downsides of being a PK was I couldn’t get away with anything. Any parishioner who spotted me jaywalking or smoking considered it their sacred duty to report my transgressions.
Over time, “Preacher’s Kid” evolved into the nickname “Preacher,” and I’d cringe whenever I heard it. Nicknames are a product of a mysterious consensus. Only the community-at-large assigned nicks, and upon reaching critical mass, a nickname is born.
My new given nickname might as well been tattooed to my forehead. Nicks, once assigned, tended to follow the recipient to the grave and beyond.
My stepfather’s religious calling was only part of the reason I earned the name of “Preacher.” I carried the reputation as being the boy who when asked, “What time is it?” would respond with a lecture on how to build a clock.
I only got into one fistfight in high school which I had the bad luck to win. My opponent was a kid named Joey, an average looking boy who would easily blend in and disappear in a crowd. Joey, like me, was destined to occupy the lowest rungs of the social ladder. For some reason, he decided beating me to a pulp might improve his place in the pecking order.
Most schoolyard slugfests followed the same script; two kids would start circling each other while trading insults as each tried to work up the nerve to take the first swing. I despised school fights and regarded them as dangerous and useless spectacles.
One day after classes, Joey backed me into a corner and offered me a choice: fight him “right here, right now” or we would fight in one of our backyards.
We flipped a coin and my yard won the toss. A short time later, we met behind my home on Weymouth Street. My parents were away for the day. A couple of friends came along keep lookout while acting as seconds.
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