Elementary School Cafeteria Brawls

I had ADHD before anyone called it that.

Back then they just described it as “lacks self-control.”

Teachers said it. Lunch monitors said it. The principal said it like he had a punch card and was working toward a free froyo. It was on every report card.

The problem wasn’t that I had nothing to say.

The problem was I had everything to say.

Immediately.

To everyone.

All the time.

I consistently received the highest marks in class participation with a footnote that said, “He never knows when to shut up.”

Impulse control was not a concept I had been introduced to yet.

I had big ideas but a terrible business model.

For example, I discovered that you could buy gum for twenty-five cents and sell it at school for fifty. A clean 100% markup. A financial strategy any Wall Street analyst would admire.

The only flaw in the plan was that I ate the entire inventory before second period.

Either that or I gave it away to girls in exchange for a kiss.

I would kiss any girl who allowed it.

Which was risky behavior because we all had braces.

There was always the possibility our mouths could fuse together like two poorly welded shopping carts.

I was a skinny kid because I spent most of my lunch money trading for novelty erasers shaped like dinosaurs, skateboards, and once, my favorite, a tiny penguin.

At some point I also got heavily into POGS.

If you didn’t grow up in the 90s, POGS were basically cardboard gambling discs for children.

Adults somehow allowed this.

You slam a heavier disc down and whatever flips over becomes your property.

It was recess with a Vegas theme.

My financial portfolio fluctuated wildly.

Meanwhile, socially, I had another problem.

This behavior, surprisingly, did not always go over well.

I got into a lot of fights.

Part of the issue was size. I started school early because it only took about four years for my mother to get completely sick of my shenanigans. We didn’t have Pre-K in those days, so she just sent me straight to kindergarten.

Which meant I was always the smallest kid in the room.

Being the smallest kid makes you a bullseye.

The slightly bigger kids would try to bully me.

Unfortunately for them, I had a supernatural radar for insecurity.

Physically they were stronger.

Mentally I was a psychological sniper.

My strategy was simple: make them cry before they could hit me.

This was not a healthy defense mechanism.

Elementary school fights are especially strange because my social alliances were completely devoid of prejudice.

Most of my friends were Black kids from the neighborhood. At recess we roasted each other mercilessly like it was a pediatric comedy club.

I called it the S’mores Roast.

They were the Hershey’s.

I was the marshmallow.

But every school also had that one kid in karate who was basically a Cobra Kai bully but delusionally believed he was Ralph Macchio.

You could always spot him.

His mom would have him taken to the after-school latchkey program in a short bus that looked like a party limo covered in karate stickers.

Dragons. Flames.

The name of the dojo: TONY THE TIGER KARATE.

Slogans like Learn Discipline.

Which loosely translated to: fix your horrible personality and your parents might finally love you.

Eventually one of these kids decides he’s going to fight someone.

And somehow that someone is always me.

Watching a real-life karate kid square up in public is hilarious.

He doesn’t just fight.

He prepares.

He tries to enter this deep zen state like he’s about to transform into a karate gi through sheer concentration.

It’s imaginary, but you can tell immediately he only has a yellow belt.

Yellow belts have a very specific energy.

It says, “I still suck at this, but please be distracted by the color of my waist.”

Meanwhile my friend comes to my aid and starts providing jive talking.

“Look at this dude.”

“Cracker, we been kung fu fighting!”

Karate Kid is sweating now.

Not from exertion.

From the realization that this may actually turn into a real fight.

So he begins doing the crane pose from The Karate Kid.

One leg up.

Arms out.

Pink and wobbling like a drunken flamingo. 🦩

At this point a lunchroom monitor is nearby.

Technically she should stop the fight.

But she’s nineteen years old and this is the most interesting thing that has happened all day.

So she just watches.

There’s a moment where she looks at him balancing on one foot and you can almost hear her thinking:

I mean… I’ll allow it.

I do kind of want to see if he can land that kick.

She already knows this story will finally make her interesting to her college boyfriend.

Eventually the lunch lady steps in and ends it.

The crowd dissipates.

We return to our tater tots.

I live to fight another day.

And that’s just one of the many experiences that shaped me into the man I am today:

Bad with money.

Questionable in love.

Addiction-prone.

Yet somehow still considered too smart to be likable.

Essentially the original poster child for ADHD.