it started in my own backyard. was i ten? maybe i was nine. i’d taken swimming lessons and a little gymnastics — mom and dad were all about the development of my coordination — but i never was one to go out for baseball or football. my lack of athletic evidence is probably what led to me getting into a fight in my own back yard. you see, i was walking home from school as i did everyday — you could see the swings and slide from our kitchen window — and jeff _____ and his friends decided to fill the office of bridge troll. standing between me and home was the smallish creek that bordered the playground, so i took the low road and stepping stoned my way across. not a group to be thwarted, jeff and company decided to spit in my direction. i didn’t look up, i kept going, but somewhere around the creekbank i let slip with an uncharacteristic (at the time) “stupid jackass.”
or maybe i said “jackhole” … my curse-fu was very weak in those days.
“what did you call me?” jeff was mad now.
he was taller than me. everybody was taller than me then. and he had largish front teeth that weren’t bucked, but just very obvious. his other friends stayed on the bridge, but he caught up with me just as i made a dash from the bank to the fence along our backyard. now i don’t remember if i fell down in a stumble or if the idea of this jerk in my yard made my knees give or if he pushed me, but i do know that i was on my back and on the ground and he was on me and swinging. this sounds rather horrible, doesn’t it? but looking back, he was a really poor fighter. what seemed so frightening to a pre-teen me, now looks just pathetic and desperate. he was definitely swinging wildly, but he was just dropping these glancing shots on my shoulders, looking very much like a kid trying to beat away a cloud of bees.
so that was my first fight. and when my dad found out, we had a long talk in the truck about it. that’s my dad’s way. other father’s might hold discussions in a living room or a study, but my dad’s office of sage advice was often the cab of a pickup with him behind the wheel. while he made sure i knew that fighting was wrong, he felt like i should have a bit more in my corner. and so i started taking karate classes.
karate. tae kwon do. taught by robert harris and jessie thornton. class was every monday, wednesday and friday night at 6pm. that meant that i would come home from school around 3:30pm, do a little homework (not likely) or play (more likely), then watch television while i got ready for karate. invariably, i would watch either wtbs (the superstation) or wanx (channel 64 at the time). while wanx would show a good portion of cartoons, wtbs had the sitcoms and i was all about getting as much situation comedy as my little head could hold. and what show greeted me every afternoon? “come and knock on our door….”
three’s company wasn’t the best sitcom of my childhood, but it is certainly the one i remember most. and jack tripper? he was the reason to watch it. janet was boring and the revolving blondes were annoying, but jack tripper would find himself in the best uncomfortable situations every time. and even when jack managed to avoid direct comedic peril, he always had to watch out for mr furley or mr roper. jack tripper was everyman and anyone could relate to him.
only later would i realize that john ritter was even more accessible than the character he played. he was always kind when appearing as simply himself on the emmys or other television shows. later i would gain even more respect for him after seeing his portrayal of vaughan in sling blade. and now i’m a little sad that i let my lack of faith in modern television keep me away from his latest endeavor.
but i will never forget how john ritter entertained a young me daily in syndication, helping me mentally gear up with nonsensical humor before running laps around the dojo and punching at things that were only in my head.
