My grandfather was a Captain in the Houston Police Department.   When I was about 6 years old, he gave me a fingerprinting kit for my birthday.  I was playing with it in the yard one day, when the neighborhood bully showed up.  Of course, he spilled the graphite powder (the most important part of the kit), and I can’t tell you how angry I was.  Unfettered rage.  I was on him in an instant.  Tears were flowing like rivers from my eyes.  He was bigger than me, so he soon had pinned me on the ground and was sitting on my chest, holding my hands on the ground.  I was so furious that I couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying.  I don’t know how I knew how to do it, but I lifted my legs up, wrapped my ankles around his face, and pried him off of me in one swift move.  The back of his head hit the ground with a thud.  I immediately jumped on top of him, pounded him in the face a few times, and then, for no known reason, began trying to pull his head off.  I had my hands under his chin and started pulling on his head.  I’m sure it made for quite a comical scene.  Of course, my mother came out the front door after having heard the screaming going on in the yard.  She immediately pulled me off of the bully and sent him home.  Needless to say, it was not pleasant in my house that evening.

In retrospect, I can’t explain why I did what I did.  Perhaps the kid had done other things to me or my friends, and I was fed up.  For some reason, I snapped.  I lost all control and ability to decipher right from wrong.  Ever since that day, I have had a very “long” temper.  I will put up with a lot.  It’s very difficult to get me angry.  I’ll even turn the other cheek several times.  However, once I cross the line, the rage that spews forth makes the Incredible Hulk look like a wuss.