When I was a Freshman at Central High School, about 1968 or so, I got jumped on in the Olney subway station before I boarded the train. I'm not sure I dealt with the guys correctly, but when one of them tried to put his hand in my pocket to see if I was lying about not having any money (I was), I told him to f*** off and pulled away. Then I saw a fist heading for my head, and the next thing I saw was stars, just like in the cartoons. Fortunately, I maintained consciousness (maybe I should have taken up boxing) and let off a string of vulgar profanities in a very loud voice. The attackers thought, I guess, that if I could curse like that, I was tougher than I appeared, so they left very quickly, leaving me very sore with a lump on my head. When I got home, my Dad (who's a doctor) checked me out and said I was OK, but that I was lucky the guy wasn't using brass knuckles. I couldn't figure out why my father knew so much about brass knuckles, but the lump went away, and I finished high school without anybody bothering me on the subway again.
Was the attack on me racially motivated? I'm not sure, but it could well have been just that they thought a skinny little 14 year old was easier pickings for petty theft. By the next year, puberty had caught up with me, I grew a mustache and longer hair, and started wearing blue jeans and motorcycle boots to school. My younger brother told me years later that I gave the appearance of being a tough kid from South Philly, not some college-prep sissy from Center City. Hey, whatever works.
One thing that was different about this recent attack that was reported above, is that the attackers were girls. Things sure have changed since I was in high school.
