Fight Club Rule #1: You Don’t Talk About Fight Club

Mood: Sheepish

BOY STABS BROTHER OVER TV PROGRAM
November 21, 2007 – 6:13AM, SMH Online

A 12-year-old Arizona boy stabbed his 13-year-old brother during a fight over what to watch on TV, seriously hurting him, say US police.

The older brother was in extremely critical condition, authorities said.

The two had been fighting when the younger boy allegedly went to the kitchen, returned with a 12 cm knife and stabbed his brother in the abdomen, said Phoenix Police Lieutenant Rob Howe.

Their father heard them fighting over the TV.

The younger brother was in police custody.

What is the world coming to when a 12-year-old would stab his own brother over a TV program?

I shook my head when I read this article. Not only because of the violence that a 12-year-old kid is capable of, but also because it brought back a memory from the early 90s, of another altercation between two siblings over a VCR.

Whilst it is not a suppressed memory, I have not spoken of this incident in a long time. Just like Rule #1 of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

I feel very sheepish reminiscing about the incident. I was old enough to know better, but I still resorted to physical violence in a moment of sheer frustration. In hindsight, I should have walked away and dropped the subject, but in my mind at the time, I wanted to teach my youngest sister a lesson – she shouldn’t expect to get her way every time.

The source of the argument was the use of the TV, the VCR and a video tape. I might add that there were 2 TVs in our house – one that was off limits to the kids (Dad was very finicky about his entertainment equipment) and one that was strictly for our use. In cases of "emergency", where 2 TV programs were on at the same time and both needed to be recorded for later viewing, Dad would be happy to accommodate our needs provided we asked politely.

I digress. I was always knocked back on my requests to Dad, but my sister (the family favourite) was always permitted to use Dad’s equipment. The unwritten arrangement was my sister would use the kids’ equipment as a last resort. One evening, before I went out, I set our VCR to tape a TV program on a brand new tape. I checked and double checked the settings and made sure it was all set to go. I went out for the evening and didn’t think anything more of it.

The next day, I went to watch the TV program, only to find that it was not recorded. My sister had instead watched another tape of her recordings and forgot to reset my programming. All she had to do after she was done with the VCR was switch it off, but she forgot. I was seething mad, and in my anger, I took one of her treasured tapes and recorded over a number of shows I knew she had not watched.

Fast forward to a week later, and I picked up my tape containing my favourite movie "When Harry Met Sally" and put the tape into the VCR. I had set myself a carpet picnic and was looking forward to a nice relaxing afternoon. The movie started, and I was enjoying myself when all of a sudden, random scenes from the movie were being replaced by random ads.

You guessed it. My sister ran the movie and taped over all the bits I loved the most.

Something in my head snapped. All I could see was red. My blood was boiling and I wanted her to pay.

I ripped the tape out of the VCR and went in search of my sister. I stormed into her bedroom and started throwing her stuff around. I stomped around upstairs screaming out her name. I flew downstairs and eventually found her in the study, sitting in front of the computer, pretending not to notice me.

I stood next to her and asked her why. She ignored me. I screamed at her and asked her why she did such a despicable thing. She continued to ignore me. I ranted and raved right next to her ear. It was as if I wasn’t there.

Gripping the cassette in my hands, I smashed the plastic casing over her head. It broke into two pieces. Even I was stunned by my own actions as I stood there, holding a piece of cassette in each hand, still joined by the thin shiny black tape.

My sister stood up and pushed me out into the living room. She threw a few punches at me, some of which landed. I pushed her away, but she kept coming at me. One large push saw her fall to the ground. She got up and made her final move.

My sister roundhouse kicked me in the guts.

The fight ended. I limped away in tears. My sister did the same.

What an awful sister I was!

I’ve since apologised to my sister and we get along very well now – I’m even Godmother to her eldest son. But what a wretched, horrible, selfish act of mine!

I just hope those kids in America learn a lesson from this – violence solves nothing, and a TV program is not worth dying for.

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One response to “Fight Club Rule #1: You Don’t Talk About Fight Club

  1. You have to admit now though – that my mental image of you physically breaking a video cassette over your sisters head is VERY funny! Ickle Bro was bigger than me from the time he wasx 4 (and i was 8) and started Judo sometime in Primary school – needless to say phyiscal fights were very banned in our house (although mum LOVES bringing up the time LittleD threw me over his head at highschool – the music teacher may have thought it was amusing, i spent 25 minutes convincing the principal not to suspend him (principal was walking past and saw whole incident) and never told mother THAT part of the story when it all happened)…
     
    Ickle Bro  once reset a computer game i had been playing for months (i was finally on the FINAL level), over something i supposedly did to him (i think i was playing when he wanted too)… When i complained i was told it was obviously my fault for pissing him off…
    Which really was how all our fights as kids ended – me in trouble…

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