annarino writes

I grew up in an immigrant community in a very poor area of town. Inevitably, the inhabitants who claimed this impoverished neighborhood as their own resented the Italian-Catholics so unlike them. Bullies played a large role in my childhood. They roamed the alleys and streets looking for victims. I refused to become one.

My Great-Uncle George Annarino was a champion Bantam-weight prize fighter. His cauliflower ear was a marvel to me, especially when he explained how he got it as we sat together on bar stools at my family’s restaurant. He had retired from boxing and opened a gym, complete with a boxing ring in his garage, by the time I was born. He had taught my teen-aged father to fight. Dad won his first 22 fights. He lost his 23rd. fight and retired; only to learn that his opponent went on to win a national championship. He chuckled aloud stating to me, “I think I retired too soon.”

Dad hung a boxing bag in our garage, and gave us child-sized regulation boxing gloves. He taught his children how to throw a punch. He provided weights and at the age of ten I could lift 150 pounds above my head. I sparred with my Dad and brothers. Dad thought girls should also know how to protect themselves and showed me how a well-placed jab to the nose or eye, a well-placed kick where it would hurt most could disarm an attacker. We were taught to never start a fight, to walk away if possible. And, we were taught to never take a punch without punching back.

I was a lucky girl of that time in our history, a girl whose Dad knew her worth was equal to that of his sons’ worth. This was definitely not the norm in 1950’s America. Dad included me when he taught us to play baseball, football and basketball. My brothers played sports with me. Neighborhood boys allowed me to joint the games knowing I could play as their equal. Childhood ended with menstruation when playing with the boys became forbidden by my mother. Another battle ahead as a woman in a sexist society. But, I retained the athletic ability I had honed. I retained my fighting skills. More importantly, I retained my knowledge of my inherent self-worth. I knew how to stand up to bullies.

I still shadow-box, although not on a regular schedule. I still fight, although not with my fists. I know the value of a well-aimed punch and used it when cross-examining witnesses in court as an attorney. I learned to use the law to fight. I learned to use politics to fight. I organized voting efforts, went door-to-door on behalf of political candidates I admired, using the skills I learned about fighting an oppressive bully to good effect. I worked as a poll worker.

I still try not to start a fight. I have too often been told I am responsible for a fight, simply because I refuse to back down from a bullying conversation. I shall not start the fight. But, I will finish it. I prefer gloves in a ring; but in alleys and across dining tables are sometimes the only choice I’m given, with all gloves off. It may not look pretty. It feels good.

I want our politicians, educators, religious leaders, CEOs, labor unions, and fellow citizens to fight with me. I want them to stand up to the bullies. Not all of us had Dads like mine. Not all of us were trained to defend ourselves against bullies. I understand that. But, too often through my life I had to stand alone in the fight; only later in private to have others who stood back secretly thank me. I would have preferred them to stand alongside me in the fight. So, even if you cannot fight, for whatever reason, will you please stand alongside those who are willing to take on the fight? Is that too much to ask? I hope not. We need every single one of you to stand in solidarity with those of us fighting power-hungry, disgruntled bullies who claim they’re making America great again as they destroy it and us… “We the people.”