When I was growing up in Czechia, there was exactly one TV channel, unimaginatively called “Czech TV”. When there was anything even remotely interesting on it, you and all your friends watched it. Later that same public broadcaster added a second channel (“Czech TV 2”), but that was more of the same, now with more soccer games. The big shift came when we finally got the first public broadcaster, TV Nova. They weren’t so tied to the old ways and introduced us to edgier American entertainment.

There are a few shows that stand out: Xena, Hercules, Renegade, Highlander. But there’s another one that made a powerful impression: Tropical Heat. Check out these intro titles:

Women in bikinis, sandy beaches, and driving around in a Jeep Wrangler with no doors (never mind a roof) - that’s what life in America was like. The protagonist, “Nick Slaughter”, always wears an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and solves problems with his fists. That’s what it meant to be cool.

Against this backdrop, then, picture me and my friends in third grade. It’s the “snack” break between second and third period, and like during all breaks, we were outside playing soccer. There were about six of us who were any good, and usually we’d set up the teams to be pretty even, but on this particular day for whatever reason that was not the case. On this particular day the teams were very uneven, and all the good players except me decided to be on the other team. The result was predictable: my team lost very badly.

Walking back to class, my friends mocked our team mercilessly, and me in particular. I think the pretext for what followed was arguing about exactly how bad the score was.

“6-0,” they said, and laughed.

“5-0”, I growled.

It makes no difference, of course. 5-0 is still a spanking. But hey, to my eight-year-old self this point of contention became something to cling to, a new battle that maybe I’d be able to win.

But not easily. Discussion led to argument, argument to shoving, and shoving led to Pepa, the biggest, baddest kid in class elbowing me in the stomach and knocking the wind out of me. By the time I caught my breath again, Pepa and the other kids were a ways away, still laughing at my expense.

To my eight year old self it was an unacceptable slight. Being beaten terribly on the field by teams stacked so unfairly, being mocked endlessly for it, and then finally getting the wind knocked out of me for my trouble? No, that was not OK. What should I do?

What would Nick Slaughter do? That one was easy - Nick Slaughter solved problems with his fists.

So I caught up to my friends, walked into the middle of the group, and punched Pepa in the face.

Then I was unsure what happens next. I think in the show, Nick Slaughter generally knocks out bad guys with one punch and that’s the end of it, and he goes back to drinking margaritas on the beach. So that’s what I did: walked off to the side, leaned against a fence, and stood there nice and cool, as if nothing had happened. This was the end of the story, right?

I still remember thinking how weird it was that Pepa was striding so purposefully towards me. Didn’t he get that I won, because I landed the first punch? He was getting rather close now, and I realized that he might, in fact, be about to hit me back. So I… leaned back as far as I could. I didn’t put my hands up, I didn’t try to fight back, I didn’t run… I just kind of leaned away, hoping that Pepa couldn’t reach me.

His punch landed right on the nose, just as mine had.

I don’t remember what happened next. Maybe the teacher saw this and separated us, but I think it’s equally plausible that we just stopped on our own. We’d each landed a punch and so were even, meaning there weren’t more things that needed settling.

The next memory I have is of Pepa and me sitting across from each other in the hallway outside of our classroom. We’re sitting there quietly, each holding a napkin to our bloody nose. W’re quiet… but we are both smiling.

We’d shared a powerful new experience - taking matters into our own hands in the way that real men like Nick Slaughter do. We’d ventured out of the zone of the little kids all around us and into the realm of tough men, pushed against the biggest rock around… and we each found that the other was just as tough, ready to go, and not about to take any shit from anyone.

When our noses stopped bleeding, the teacher invited us back into the classroom. Under her direction, Pepa and I shook hands and told everyone what good friends we were… and it was true. Pepa became my best friend that day.

We keep in touch to this day, and Pepa is the only friend I still have from that time, even though we’ve been separated by an ocean and one and a half continents for most of the last twenty-two years.

I haven’t thrown a punch in anger since then (perhaps I learned that in real life things aren’t quite as simple as they are in Nick Slaughter’s world), and I don’t advocate this approach for anyone… but at that moment it allowed us to find in each other an equal in an environment where you normally couldn’t do that. There are surely better ways to do it, but I think they all involve pushing limits and going where most people aren’t willing to go.

When you get somewhere like that, look around: any other people there have the same right stuff that you do. Make friends.