Once in the summer, a circus came to my neighbourhood. All boys and lasses were curious. I got $2 from my parents and stood in line with other fans. I was also accompanied by my classmates. We were strangers to such rarities as a circus. The 1970s did not spoil us, but once upon a time we had to entertain ourselves. It was very hot, and the line was long. There could be some kind of rainy weather at least for a moment.

However, the boredom passed unexpectedly, when some boy started to look at me. I looked to a side and felt a nudge on my stomach. I got kicked out of line and fell in motion. Whoever pushed me turned out to be that son of a bitch! At his age, I had a dollhouse! I looked up, and that's when it started. A ten-year-old boy (eye-to-eye) bent a lot. He started yelling at me and calling me vulgar! If I spoke like that, I'd end up miserable. My buddies just like me stood there like I did, and the young one was supported by dumb-ass dudes. They were clearly entertained by his behaviour. They applauded him every time he called. I didn't really know how to behave. Should I have reacted to that somehow? Reason advised me to stay calm, but how do I do it when they call me around? Normally I'd underestimate that little shit, but he drove me into a frenzy. I had a lot of annoyance in primary school. That was what I reminded of then. My torturers joined that bandit. Where did his parents go, anyway? My pride felt like it was being flogged. Suddenly, I grew incredibly angry. Frustrated, I finally cracked the youngster! I didn't deserve a beer grille… I was fifteen years old - he was about ten. The young man flew to a pole and fell to the ground. I even heard an applause when I was still in stage fright. I thought that little shit was gonna beat me up, but he looked like he wasn't gonna get up. The deep silence was then in line. The only thing that squeaked was a joint at some plywood. A woman and a man approached, a ten-year-old turned and lifted. He was breathing, but unfortunately, he was unconscious. A lot of damage was caused by my unbroken blow.

Militia and paramedics were there. I got into a police car, and he was on a stretcher. I waited a few hours. Nobody questioned me. I was supposed to show up the next day. The world has deceived me! When I came back, my parents knew everything. I'll probably never forget that Sunday. After a short conversation and attempts at explaining, my father moved on to the concrete - heavy beating. He folded his leather military belt in half. Five minutes later, my ass was purple. It was my first and last beating, after which I had to wait for a sermon. The next day I appeared at the police station, where the effects of my settlement were already known. The young man was well, but he survived an operation the previous night: He must have had a hematoma erased. I met his parents in a courtroom. I expected some alcoholics and generally people of light customs, not afraid of curses and ugly habits. Meanwhile, the father was an elegant businessman. The mother had an expensive dress in an extravagant colour. Those rich people were unpleasant. They defended their son in every way they could. They brought a certificate with exemplary behaviour, probably paid for by them. I was found guilty and fined. I've also been assigned a school officer for five years. I had to start an individual teaching and leave my friends from school. I gave $2000 for the operation to continue the youngster's extravagance.

A few years later he terrorized the estate. When he was caught, he was charged with many things. He went to jail when I was graduating. Amnestied when Poland was free. After such a time I wouldn't know him live, but to meet him wouldn't be nice anyway. That adolescent gangster grew incredibly big and I felt fear as if he started looking at me again…