My Boxing Career

Posted By The Peak on Sep 30, 2018

September 30, 2018

By Carolyn Fowler
Courtesy Thistle Magazine

When I was a little girl I was quite shy and lacked self-confidence. When I was about eight years-old, in an attempt to remedy this situation, my father bought a punching bag and gloves and installed the bag in our basement. There he pro ceeded to give me boxing lessons on the theory that I would feel more confident if I ever needed to stand up for myself. I clearly remember his telling me to hit ·directly from the shoulder and not “pummel” like a girl.

On a crisp Sunday morning in the Fall, on returning from Sunday School and church I decided to ride my bike around the neighborhood of our suburban New Jersey town. Still wearing my brown wool dress coat, Mary Janes and new brown leather gloves, of which I was very proud, I set out for my ride.

Several blocks from home I found a boy from my class at school building a fort with a friend in the empty lot next to his house. This was pretty interesting stuff. I stopped on the opposite side of the street and settled in to watch the boys.

They were not pleased and told me to go away. I announced that this was a public road and I had a perfect right to be there. They retaliated by throwing small rocks at me. One stone hit me on the side of my bare knee with sufficient force to cause acute pain and tears.

I wailed my way home and tearfully recounted the episode to my father who was out in the yard raking leaves. He told me to go back to the scene of the crime and stand up for myself – “Give those boys a good punch or two” as he had taught me. I pointed out that it would be two against one and I would be beaten up. My father had a solution to that problem. He would come along with me.

So off we went on our bikes. When we arrived at the fort my father stayed on his bike and told me to “Hit straight from the shoulder and aim for his face.” I did, and was amazed to score a direct hit to his nose from which blood began to flow. He burst into tears and ran for his mother who came to the aid of her wounded child. His friend simply stood there, stunned. I don’t recall what words, if any, were exchanged between the two adults.

Father and I biked home where my mother was filled in, and I changed into play clothes. The only damage to my Sunday outfit was to my new leather gloves. Alas, the right glove was irreparably stained with blood.

But now I had started to worry about possible consequences at school the next day. Would the boys gang up on me at recess and retaliate? My father did not seem very concerned. Off to school I went on Monday morning in fear and trepidation at the prospect of recess and the walk home from school – but nothing happened.

They never touched me.

And that was the end of my boxing career. I have never punched anyone since. However, I keep in practice with fitness classes, which include occasional cross punching and uppercuts – just in case!

Thank you. The author, Carolyn Fowler, is a resident of a lifecare community. Her article was published in the July 2018 issue of Thistle Magazine, which is published by the residents. Thank you Lois for this excellent article. Editor, The Peak