Whan was the very first time you experienced RAGE ?

[Easy 10]

I'm a maHOOsive fan of Danny Baker, and his 5-Live Saturday breakfast show always raises some cracking topics which he invites people to contact the show with. Anyway, one of the ones he is running with at the moment is "When was the first time as a child you experienced rage ?" (and we're talking nippers around 6 years old or under). It struck a chord with me as I always remembered this incident, so I've emailed the show with my experience....

Danny,
On your subject of the first ever time to have 'lost it' as a little-un.
I must have been about 6 or 7 years old, growing up in Basingstoke. One chilly Autumnal afternoon I donned my wellies and duffle coat, did up the toggles, and decided (quite unprompted) to take a broom and sweep up all the leaves on the pathway outside our house, with a view to making an enormous pile of dead leaves, which I then intended to jump in to. I set about my task with vigour and gusto, and after about half an hour of frenzied sweeping, had amassed a considerable pile.

As I surveyed the fruit of my labours and began contemplating my run and stunt-leap into this almost waist-high mound of leaves, Simon Tipper, the big boy from along the road who was a couple of years above me in school, came along and quite deliberately, with unbridled glee, ran straight through my pile of leaves, kicking and scattering them everywhere in the process, then just ran off laughing. Being mild of manner and meek in frame, I reacted with a slump of the shoulders and a deep sigh, but my desire to dive into my pile of leaves still burned brightly, so I set about the task of sweeping them up and starting all over again.

Some time later, the pile of leaves was not only replenished, but to my delight was a great deal larger than the one Tipper had vandalised earlier, and must have been at almost chest-height. Somewhat pleased at my industry and self-discipline in assembling this mighty pile, all the while resisting the temptation to jump in earlier when it was much smaller, I prepared myself for the moment of truth, when I would take a run and jump and dare to land flat on my back in this mattress-mountain of sun-crisped foliage. When who should come round the corner on his return journey, but Simon Tipper.

Spotting the nerdy kid with the duffle coat, wellies and the broom proudly standing next to this even bigger pile of leaves, the inevitable happened. Tipper once again gathered pace and, despite my howls of protest, repeated his heinous crime by once more charging into my pile of leaves, scattering them across the path, cackling wildly as he did it. As I surveyed the devastation wreaked by his wanton vandalism for the second time (perhaps the theme music to Platoon would be apt here), for the very first time in my life, a malignant black rage began to form deep within me, one which I instinctively felt could only be satiated by sudden, explosive violence.

Without a seconds thought, I ran up behind the imposing figure of Tipper, swung my trusty broom, and caught him flush on the ear. He let out a yelp, clutched his ear and wheeled round, but on turning, all he would have seen was an empty path and perhaps a lone spinning broom falling to the floor. For the very instant after my act to retribution, in stark terror, I'd bolted up our garden path and the safety of the porch. As I wrestled frantically with the door handle, I heard Tipper jeeringly shout out "DIDN'T HURT ANYWAY", but he had barely finished the sentence before I was halfway up the stairs and heading breathlessly for the sanctuary of my room.

I avoided him at school and didn't play out for the rest of the week.

Dave (from Brighton)



Genuine tale, that. Anyone else with memories of childhood RAGE ?

 

[Bluejuice]

I distinctly remember an incident in First School in which our teacher had asked us to write letters to Father Christmas (it was December). I thought this seemed a pretty good use of school time, seeing as I'd only have to do it at home otherwise, and set about the task with aplomb.

Some time later, having handed in our work to the teacher, Mrs Busby, she told the class she would be reading out two of the offerings she had received and then inviting us to tell her what the differences between the two were.

First off was Phoebe Fricker's effort, it read:

Dear Santa,

I hope you are well and that your reindeer are keeping warm out there in the North Pole. It must be a very busy time of year for you so I will try to keep this short. I have always wanted to know what it is you get up to for the rest of the year and also how you compile your who's been naughty and who's been nice list. Perhaps you would be able to let me know and I would love to hear from you.

In the mean time I wish you a happy and prosperous festive period and hope you get all the mince pies you could want.

With love

Phoebe (age 7)


OK, so a little round of applause went up as the teacher smiled and made it clear that this was the good effort and she then disdainfully picked up my letter and proceeded to read:


Dear Santa,

I want:

An 18 speed mountain bike
Panthro Thundercat action figurine
Remote controlled helicopter (blue)
Sega Master System
Cadbury's penny vend desktop chocolate vending machine
Donkey Kong III Nintendo Game & Watch game
Micro Machines Highway Warriors set
Lego Millennium Falcon

Merry Christmas



After reading this Mrs Busby scowled at me and asked the class "now who can tell me why the second one is NOT a letter like the first?"

Jennifer Stothard piped up "he has just written a list miss, he hasn't asked about the Reindeers."

Everybody looked at me and I tried to explain that I didn't care how Santa's reindeer were, I just wanted to make sure he knew all the toys I wanted for Christmas, but it was no use - the damage was done and from thereonin I was victimised as an uncaring materialistic problem child. With a venemous rage building up inside me against my teacher, which I had previously never experienced, I rose to my feet, almost subconsciously, and launched my chair at this cackling witch who had shamed me.

My parents were told and I had to go and see a child psychiatrist.

Bitch

 

[Easy 10]

quality stuff Bluejuice.
And for the record, I think your teacher was BANG out of order singling out your letter as an example of what not to do. Its an incident that can damage someone for life when inflicted at such a tender age. Your actions were entierly justified.

 

[brighton_girl87]

When I was about 7 I had a Lego obsession and had spent weeks building up my magnificent city complete with a police station, prison, football pitch, racing track, several houses, a research lab and a network of roads linking everything together.

After a lengthy decision making process with several contenders, I invited my friend Nick round to join me in the grand opening of the glorious new city. He decided to repay me by knocking several key buildings down, in what I can only assume was an act of jealousy.

All my hard work and dedication flashed before my eyes and the next thing I knew I was lunging towards him, teeth at the ready to take a BITE out of his forehead!

 

[¤DãŃn¥ §êãGüLL¤]

I can remember being about 8/9, my mum was walking with me through (old) Churchill Square, I was playing up about something and she slapped me one across the chops in full view of other shoppers I was so incensed and felt revenge rise from the depths of my bowel like a flaming salmon so gobbed in her face and shouted SUCK MY COCK! Before running off.

I think in the coolness stakes, she lost out big time to the ensembled crowd there.

 

[Bluejuice]

quality stuff Bluejuice.
And for the record, I think your teacher was BANG out of order singling out your letter as an example of what not to do. Its an incident that can damage someone for life when inflicted at such a tender age. Your actions were entierly justified.

You're quite right.

AND I maintain that I honestly did NOT give a shit about Santa's reindeer.

I was a seven year old BOY, my eye was on the prize.

I shall never forget.

 

[sydney]

i had a kid in my class at school who had a brother who was 3 years older at the same school,when we used to leave the class for lunchtime , this older lad would invariably be loitering around our classroom door and would invariably either punch me in the stomach or slap me around the head or something like that.......this went on for quite some time,months in my memory.
one lunchtime he was out there but he had bought a couple of mates along with him for a laugh,any way he grabbed me by the ear and tried to pull me down the corridor in the opposite direction to where i should have been going........i got hold of his tie,kicked his legs out from underneath him and dragged him the length of the corridor,running him into the wall at the end and unfortunately finished off by stamping on his head..........i just couldn't help it and completely lost it...i was 5and it was my first year at school.......i don't think it did my prospects any good in hindsight....

 

[Mellotron]

What an exquisite thread.

 

[Bluejuice]

When I was about 7 I had a Lego obsession and had spent weeks building up my magnificent city complete with a police station, prison, football pitch, racing track, several houses, a research lab and a network of roads linking everything together.

After a lengthy decision making process with several contenders, I invited my friend Nick round to join me in the grand opening of the glorious new city. He decided to repay me by knocking several key buildings down, in what I can only assume was an act of jealousy.

All my hard work and dedication flashed before my eyes and the next thing I knew I was lunging towards him, teeth at the ready to take a BITE out of his forehead!

That's a GREAT story.

Few acts could incite such vitriolic anger as the destruction of Lego creations

 

[Easy 10]

i had a kid in my class at school who had a brother who was 3 years older at the same school,when we used to leave the class for lunchtime , this older lad would invariably be loitering around our classroom door and would invariably either punch me in the stomach or slap me around the head or something like that.......this went on for quite some time,months in my memory.
one lunchtime he was out there but he had bought a couple of mates along with him for a laugh,any way he grabbed me by the ear and tried to pull me down the corridor in the opposite direction to where i should have been going........i got hold of his tie,kicked his legs out from underneath him and dragged him the length of the corridor,running him into the wall at the end and unfortunately finished off by stamping on his head..........i just couldn't help it and completely lost it...i was 5and it was my first year at school.......i don't think it did my prospects any good in hindsight....

Well you had me up and out of my chair cheering you on for that one

 

[The Ringleader Returns!]

When I was 5 I was down the park with my dad and a couple of other relatives. We were kicking a ball around and having a good time. I missed the ball and it rolled down a small hill. I chased after it and as I reached the ball I realised I couldn't slow down and ended up running into the ball and kicking it even further away.

My dad laughed and called me silly and laughed. I got so annoyed I called him a POOHEAD and kicked him a couple of times.

 

[Lady Whistledown]

I can't recall the exact incident that prompted my childhood rage-out, but it must have been bloody annoying, as it resulted in me picking up the solid metal, sharp-ended pole of a swingball post, whirling it around and smashing it, with all the force I could muster as a nine-year-old, directly into the plums of the boy who was the source of the irritation, connecting with what I must say was a quite satisfying dull thump

I confess I didn't know at the time that it's just not cricket to hit chaps in that particular spot, I just went for where I thought it would hurt most. From the noise he made at the time, I would say my assumption proved correct.

He'd be about 35 now. To this day I occasionally wonder if he's ever been able to have children

 

[¤DãŃn¥ §êãGüLL¤]

I can't recall the exact incident that prompted my childhood rage-out, but it must have been bloody annoying, as it resulted in me picking up the solid metal, sharp-ended pole of a swingball post, whirling it around and smashing it, with all the force I could muster as a nine-year-old, directly into the plums of the boy who was the source of the irritation, connecting with what I must say was a quite satisfying dull thump

I confess I didn't know at the time that it's just not cricket to hit chaps in that particular spot, I just went for where I thought it would hurt most. From the noise he made at the time, I would say my assumption proved correct.

He'd be about 35 now. To this day I occasionally wonder if he's ever been able to have children

Typical police brutality

 

[Easy 10]

I can't recall the exact incident that prompted my childhood rage-out, but it must have been bloody annoying, as it resulted in me picking up the solid metal, sharp-ended pole of a swingball post, whirling it around and smashing it, with all the force I could muster as a nine-year-old, directly into the plums of the boy who was the source of the irritation, connecting with what I must say was a quite satisfying dull thump

I confess I didn't know at the time that it's just not cricket to hit chaps in that particular spot, I just went for where I thought it would hurt most. From the noise he made at the time, I would say my assumption proved correct.

He'd be about 35 now. To this day I occasionally wonder if he's ever been able to have children

Never mind the children. I bet he still breaks into a cold sweat every time he claps eyes on a SWINGBALL. He's probably never gone to a campsite in his life as a DIRECT result.

 

[Lady Whistledown]

Never mind the children. I bet he still breaks into a cold sweat every time he claps eyes on a SWINGBALL. He's probably never gone to a campsite in his life as a DIRECT result.

Indeed. I also used to like it when someone- say your brother- happened to stroll past just as you were having a game on your own, and if they weren't paying attention, and you timed it right and changed the angle of your shot slightly, you could spank the ball directly into their face. And then thanks to the wonder of the string, spank it back in the other direction while they were momentarily stunned, twatting them in the back of the head to create a matching red mark on both sides.

The sound of a tennis ball thwacking into an unsuspecting victim's face was extremely satisfying to a nine-year old. Or was I just a deviant child?

 

[SirDouglasLoft]

When I was about 7, at school I was just about to sit down, when some **** pulled my chair away. The aforementioned **** then started laughing, along with a few of his 'cronies'. However, I had the last laugh, I went up to him and lamped him right in the kisser. He went off crying, my pride was restored. Happy days.

Well until I got a 7 day exclusion from school, and he got f*** all.

 

[Meade's Ball]

Well, my tale can't rival those that have gone before it. I simply had a freakout over television watching over the Christmas period. It was about 1985. Now, as many families did in the golden days of yore, we would buy a Radio Times and go through the entire listings with our own coloured pen to encircle the films and programmes we longed for most. Mine was green, the ink from the pen, and i reckon i probably underlined all products made by Tony Hart & Co. In my mind, we had come to an agreement, as a family, one mother, four children, one father who i can't remember being about that day, over what was to be watched and when. I don't know exactly what i had ringed to disappear into through those crackling screens of the time that day, but a sudden arrival at my central Brighton family abode of 3 members of wider family i rarely saw meant that i couldn't watch what i wanted to. It was possibly Boxing Day. I picked up the plastic walkman i'd been given to listen to some hip-hop tapes on in a world unmuddied by the likes of MC Hammer and i threw that fucker into the wall, stamping on the bits that remained. I did it girlishly and over-dramatically, sometimes throwing myself onto the stairs and wrestling with a series of demons that surrounded me, crying to the heavens that some evil people had robbed me of the right to sink myself into the hand-crafted anime of a time when little more than mouths moved and everyone sounded like Derek Griffiths.
I ran around the house, embarassingly, hoping these elderly hogs would change their minds or sit in a bedroom to talk about family business so that me and tv could be together. By jingo i scowled for a week, and asked kindlily for a replacement £10 walkman, which i got.
A bit of an uninteresting story, but that was my first rage.

 

[hans kraay fan club]

Well, my tale can't rival those that have gone before it. I simply had a freakout over television watching over the Christmas period. It was about 1985. Now, as many families did in the golden days of yore, we would buy a Radio Times and go through the entire listings with our own coloured pen to encircle the films and programmes we longed for most. Mine was green, the ink from the pen, and i reckon i probably underlined all products made by Tony Hart & Co. In my mind, we had come to an agreement, as a family, one mother, four children, one father who i can't remember being about that day, over what was to be watched and when. I don't know exactly what i had ringed to disappear into through those crackling screens of the time that day, but a sudden arrival at my central Brighton family abode of 3 members of wider family i rarely saw meant that i couldn't watch what i wanted to. It was possibly Boxing Day. I picked up the plastic walkman i'd been given to listen to some hip-hop tapes on in a world unmuddied by the likes of MC Hammer and i threw that fucker into the wall, stamping on the bits that remained. I did it girlishly and over-dramatically, sometimes throwing myself onto the stairs and wrestling with a series of demons that surrounded me, crying to the heavens that some evil people had robbed me of the right to sink myself into the hand-crafted anime of a time when little more than mouths moved and everyone sounded like Derek Griffiths.
I ran around the house, embarassingly, hoping these elderly hogs would change their minds or sit in a bedroom to talk about family business so that me and tv could be together. By jingo i scowled for a week, and asked kindlily for a replacement £10 walkman, which i got.
A bit of an uninteresting story, but that was my first rage.

Beautifully written, as ever Meado. I can't believe you got a replacement though - your folks must have been a right soft touch.

 

[Easy 10]

Beautifully written, as ever Meado. I can't believe you got a replacement though - your folks must have been a right soft touch.

Just what I was thinking. I'd have had to have saved my pocket money up to replace it.

Strange how children can have such monstrous overreactions to what, on the face of it, should be a mild passing annoyance. I'd have thought the pain felt from the destruction of a treasured Walkman would have FAR outweighed the anguish of missing out on a pre-booked TV viewing. It would have made that catastrophic day even worse. But then I suppose young minds are not always rational, particularly when blurred with rage from a perceived injustice.

 

[User removed 4]

When I was about 7, at school I was just about to sit down, when some **** pulled my chair away. The aforementioned **** then started laughing, along with a few of his 'cronies'. However, I had the last laugh, I went up to him and lamped him right in the kisser. He went off crying, my pride was restored. Happy days.

Well until I got a 7 day exclusion from school, and he got f*** all.

you got suspended for 7 days for punching someone ? bit harsh !