When I was in middle school, someone beat me up.
We were playing football, and he beat me up, so I went home crying.
My dad saw me and asked why I was crying, so I told him what had happened.
He kicked me out of the house, and said, "You won't come back into this house until you hit him back."
And so he sent me, but not before he made my youngest uncle accompany me.
My dad sent him to stand somewhere nearby, to watch what I'll do.
That way, I wouldn't go home, lie to him, for example.
Tell him that I hit the guy back when I didn’t.
There were potholes in the street.
Without doing anything really, the guy fell.
I don't know if he was hurt.
I have no idea what happened to him.
But that was the only way to get back home.
An eye for an eye.
