I turned 7 at the start of 3rd grade, so I was considerably younger than the other kids in my class. This kid named Earl was considerably older. I think this because he often wore blue shirts with his name on them, so I think he worked at a gas station after school, and he had sideburns like Elvis. Earl and I generally got on pretty well, we had been friends in 2nd grade, but one day he decided to toss me around some. So I bit him on his left forearm, bit the shit out of him.
He started hopping up and down, holding his arm and yelling like a big old baby, and I started putting in work. I was just getting warmed up when one of the teacher's aides they had referring our lunch recess grabbed me and asked me what I was doing.
Huh? She saw me bite Earl. And there I was, punching as hard and as fast as I could, kicking, and trying to karate chop him across the back of the neck like Alexander Monday on It Takes A Thief, and she asks me what am I doing? I was fighting, man!
For two weeks I wasn't allowed to go out and play at recess, I couldn't get to school before the morning bell rang, and I had to go home for lunch.