I attended Stella Maris Roman Catholic School from 1st through 8th grade with my mostly Italian American, co-ed classmates. If you were Irish or other, then you were a minority at school and everybody made certain that you knew it. The Sisters of Saint Joseph taught every grade through 4th then secular teachers, and only secular teachers in the middle grades 5, 6, and 7.
I was a mischievous child. I liked to play jokes, make up stories, and scam my mom. Sometimes I would go too far, and I would pay the price. I remember calling a “Rubenesque” teacher a rhinoceros and being thrown through the top glass portion of a classroom door into the hallway for it. I was then sent to the principal’s office, and when mom came to pick me up, I had to apologize to the teacher. I was grounded for two weeks for it.
At Stella Maris, I learned to pay respect to teachers and I learned discipline, sometimes through draconian methods. It didn’t matter what the issue was, my parents were always on the teacher’s side. As I progressed through the grades, I realized the best thing to do was to keep my mouth shut and just do my work. Through this, I learned diligence.
I took to sports and enjoyed playing with my friends. In my neighborhood, disputes often turned right into conflicts, which usually ended up in fist fights. I didn’t like to fight, but I was bullied a lot, and my father didn’t like it. He would not tolerate any cowardly responses. I remember several times my dad standing on the porch telling me, “Salvi, go hit the f******* kid back”. I did what he said to do and usually just wound up bruised and feeling dejected. I found it easier to avoid conflicts by just giving in or running away. My dad set out to “fix me” for adopting such a craven strategy. Eventually, I became the primary target of one neighborhood bully. When my father caught me running into the house one time, he kicked me back outside, locked the doors, and didn’t let me back in until I fought back. In this particular instance, I was unsuccessful in usurping my oppressor.
Many months went by and there were several conflicts that I would be on the losing end of before I had enough. I had set my sights on revenge. One time, I told my bullying neighbor that I had learned a new magic trick, and I would show him if he would be nice. He agreed, and that was his mistake. I asked him to hold the iron spindles on my porch railing while he was standing on the sidewalk. I walked up to my open front porch and took out two pieces of hemp rope that were about two feet long each. I remember mentioning Harry Houdini to him while I wrapped the rope around his hands while holding on to the rails. It was simple from there; I just pulled my left hand back as far as I could clinch my left fist and let it rip, “POW!”, I punched him right between the eyes. He pulled away and ran up on the porch to beat the crap out of me, but I got a few more shots in the scuffle. It was like a shark tasting blood for the 1st time. I was satisfied and for some reason I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. He would continue to try and impose himself on me, but his power over me was fading. One night, later that summer, we fought. I punched him so many times that he was knocked over on his back and lying on the hood of another neighbor’s car. The funny thing about it was that many adult neighbors were cheering on their doorsteps for me when it was over. I was hyperventilating and I didn’t catch my breath for at least one hour afterwards. He never bothered me again after that.
I learned a lot of lessons growing up, more often the hard way than not. In some ways, it was through those lessons that I gained the resilience, diligence, and determination needed to start Zhang Sah. None of us are proud of everything that we did as kids, but all of our experiences shape who we are. There are a few things that I could have done differently, but despite all that, I have no regrets. Childhood is about learning, and not all of these lessons can be taught in school.
