When I was a lot younger, this could of been one of the most devastating things which could of happened to me. The thing which was so devastating about loosing is the loss of the pride. It makes you feel weak, that you can't defend your loved ones and it makes you look shameful and weak in front of your family. Plus you wander whether you can even preserve your own life properly, which is a frightening thought. Then there is the fear of them coming after you again and the humiliation. You don't want your friends seeing you all bruised up in hospital. That's how I used to think. Now since I don't measure myself as a man by how well I can fight, and since I don't go out looking for fights, and since I am a strong believer in turning the other cheek and I know what God's laws concerning violent people, I suppose it doesn't bother me as much. The only thing I fear is how it will affect my loved ones because I still don't want them to perceive me as being weak or to worry about me. But in the end, since I know how God deals with violent people, and the fact that in my case, the law would be on my side, in the end, it will be the victor who will end up being the looser. He will have that on his conscience for the rest of his life and he will face criminal charges of assault, because I would most likely press charges. The only type of people who would want to fight me in the first place are evil, trouble making hoons who want to attack someone in the first place.

Again, who is the loser? Still sore, still mad. Did it solve a thing other expending a bunch of energy?

Losing a fight can be a devastating thing to a young man. Once I fought to a standoff...fought long enough for both parties to ask themselves, what is this all about anyway?! It was a reckoning for me. I considered that a loss. And it was. For the first time I felt like a ignorant clout instead of having any sence of manhood. Sometimes you have to do this to protect yourself, but since then I do all I can to walk away unless I am attacked. After all I learned a good lesson.

Both. Lost some. . .won some. . .but the older I get the more I realize that barroom/street/intra-fraternity combat was all about my masculine ego than some higher concept of justice. The greatest fear of men is to give the social appearance of weakness- fighting represents a failure to handle the situation properly. Having said that, if backed into a corner you have to get out of it any way you can. . .but in the overwhelming majority of cases, fights are unecessary and often happen because people want them to.

I'd have to lose one first. I've never really gotten beaten down yet. I've been roughed up a bit, but I always handed out what I took and fought it out until my opponent was beat or outside influences removed me from the fight. (I got carried away a few times)

A well-worded lesson (I've yet to see anybody really "win" a fist fight). Sure, you might be better able to make your "point" more physically felt, but you pay a nasty price afterwards in fractured fingers, shattered knuckles, and snapped wrists (things they rarely focus on in movie and television depictions). "Yeah, I kicked butt, and as soon as I get this cast off, I'll kick some more!". Way to go, Mongo (and don't forget to chew your food). Before finding yourself in one of these situations (as either the aggressor or the object of aggression), take the time to learn some defensive moves (the "block/twist/throw" routine has bought me SO much leveraged opportunity over the years as to be incalculable) to keep from ending up in the Emergency Room (or worse). Fights are bad enough; getting handed a bill over them is truly "adding insult to injury".

I've only been in two real fights since middle school and both times were with one of my brothers. Same brother both times. We're both pretty easy-going guys, not to mention good friends, and it takes a lot to provoke us but we have a way of pushing each other's buttons. The first time wasn't too bad as those things go. Didn't last very long. But the second time was a bit more serious and we actually did some damage. Enough so we had to go to the local walk-in clinic together. He had a black eye and a fat ear and I needed stitches for a split eyebrow and a split lip. The doctor there, a big Jamaican lady, gave us a lecture about "two fine-looking young gentlemen like yourselves behaving like street thugs." She used the word "ruffians" somewhere in there too. It was embarrassing. We laughed about it afterwards but in retrospect it wasn't very funny. I know he felt bad because he's a really big guy (6'6") and growing up he'd always seen himself as my protector. Not that I needed one but we'd always had each other's back. I felt guilty because I'm the oldest and I'm supposed to be looking after these guys since my parents are gone. I felt like I'd let everybody down. Anyway that was six years ago and nothing even close has ever happened again.. and it won't. I guess I'd have to say it was a positive lesson but I stiil feel like we both lost. I'm not proud that we had to learn the lesson that way.