(at the Martinez VA, they host several classes for healing veterans. One is called, "anger management." the group facilitator asked each veteran to write a true-life account with this prompt: "Who I've punched in the face and what I've learned from the experience." the following is my true-to-life story...)

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A Stroll Down Memory Lane
By Tony Hall

I’ve had my share of fights throughout my life. I’ll tell you two of them from when I was a kid - one against my oldest brother, the other was with my younger cousin.

Growing up, my family was totally dysfunctional. Most of my family members, I wanted to punch in the face. For many of them, I DID punch in the face!

Some deserved worse. Much, much worse.

Anyway, let’s talk about Eli, my oldest brother. In 1978, he was a high school senior and football varsity letterman when I was just starting as a freshman. Eli stood 6’ tall, with a 6” afro on top, and weighed about 300 lbs. And no neck.

One afternoon, while I was reading in bed, Eli came home from school football practice and grabbed me by my shirt. He dragged me into the garage and started jabbing me with a metal folding chair. Eli was ticked-off because he heard that I had refused to join our high school’s football team. He pinned me to the corner wall and pushed the metal chair against my face for an hour (until our parents got home), warning me that I’d better sign-up to play football… or else. WTH?!

Welcome to my family nightmare. I was already traumatized by my other brother’s assault on me when I was 10-years-old. Now, I had to deal with this moron. I felt very anxious whenever I had to leave the safety of my own bedroom. I even hid a steak knife under my pillow for protection at night. I was resigned to the fact that I had to leave for school on a daily basis– but going to after-school practice or school events was absolutely out of the question.

No, I never joined any freaking football team. Eli bullied me for another week before he finally gave up. What an inspiring big brother to look up to. He definitely deserved a punch in the face (and maybe a few whacks from a metal folding chair, too).

In 1980, my younger cousin, Dwayne Johnson (The Rock!), came to visit. His father, Rocky Johnson, and grandfather, Samoan Chief Peter Mavia, wrestled every month at Daly City’s Cow Palace arena. On those nights, they’d drop Dwayne over at our Daly City home while they wrestled. Apparently, my mother and Dwayne’s grandfather were tight because both had come from the same Samoan village.

Although Dwayne was only 8-years-old, he was already very tall for his age (almost my height!), and skinny with curly hair. He didn’t talk much but he liked to horse around with the rest of us kids. He was strong, quick and wiry like a little monkey, and knew a lot of wrestling moves.

Me and Dwayne were play-wrestling in the garage. From behind, he had me locked in a full-nelson hold: both his arms were wrapped under my upraised arms with his hands clasped behind my head. I tried to free myself by thrusting down my arms as fast and hard as possible, but I accidentally hit his face with my elbow. His nose bled all over his clothes and he started crying. I’d forgotten he was still only a child. I felt so bad for hurting him. I apologized repeatedly, but Dwayne never visited again. That was the last time I saw him… until 17 years later when he began wrestling on TV.

I’m grateful for all of Dwayne’s phenomenal successes. That sort of made it easier for me to tell others that I had beaten-up The Rock when we were kids and made him cry like a baby. Whaaa!

Other than his father, I’m probably the only person on the planet to make Dwayne cry. I doubt he would’ve forgotten what happened between us, even though it occurred decades ago. He’d kick my butt on sight if we were to really meet again, and I wouldn’t blame him if he tried.

Because this time… I was the one who deserved a punch in the face. ;-(

(end)