Somewhere back in time I was a seventh grade kid who, at five feet tall and a mere ninety pounds, was so skinny that I if I stood sideways and stuck out my tongue I could have been mistaken for a human zipper.

I didn't have many friends, did no school sports, and held no position in the student body. I did get into a fight once though. Sort of.

This week, reading a book about violence in schools, I was reminded of that fight and the way my life was shaped by it, when the statistics of aggression in school age youths was noted: In this country, a recent national survey indicated that 1 in 3 students had been in a physical fight.

1 in 7 had fought on school property and 1 in 9 had been hurt badly enough to need medical attention.

Insults, feuds or simple disagreements are the usual causes, but the inability to control anger is among the chief reasons as well.

I was a happy kid, rode my bicycle a lot, goofed around in the woods, and as far as I could tell at the time, had no enemies. At least until I got to Math class.

It was a sunny spring afternoon and Mr. Van Horn had left the room for a few moments, instructing us kids to prepare for a test. That's when it happened. I'd gotten up to sharpen my pencil and out of nowhere, this smallish kid runs up and hits me right on the jaw.

I was stunned and staggered back, he mumbled something vicious and went back to his seat. I fumbled my way back to my seat and sat down shakily.

I had no earthly idea why this kid, who had never said a word to me before, should decide to punch me. Brian Pitnick couldn't have been more than four and half feet tall with a shock of too-long hair across his face and, like all good bullies, the typical mean eyes and upturned, runny nose.

But why pick on me, the skinny kid? No one else in the class seemed to notice the attack. The bell rang and I scooted out of class and went right to the bus. I wanted nothing to do with this kid and I was hurt and stunned that someone might not like me, and worse yet, might actually hate me enough to hit me.

That evening at home during dinner, Dad could see by my barely touched plate that something was bothering me. After some probing, I told him that I wasn't going back to school anymore, that I'd been hit by someone in class and with this, my brother came and sat at the table.

"What class?" I told him the details and he said, "When the class is over tomorrow, I want you to tell this kid that you'll meet him outside."

I knew this was not going to happen. I had arms like spaghetti sticks and had to stay inside on windy days. My brother assured me he would handle the rest.

The next day I ached as I watched the hands on the big school clocks crawl their way to 1:45 p.m. I dragged my body and books to building E-3 and slipped into my chair trying hard to avoid eye contact with Pitnick.

I could feel him though, burning his meanness into the back of my head.

At a couple of minutes to the bell, he walked up to the pencil sharpener and from someplace deep inside me came the voice, 'meet me outside.'

I could hardly believe I said it, but there it was. He grinned and sneered and went back to his seat and my heart began to pump loudly. At the bell, I hopped out in front of everyone else and was out the door in seconds.

At the building exit I was spotted my brother standing menacingly by the railing. I didn't say a word to him but went directly to the bus where I scrunched down a bit and avoided looking outside. I never really found out what transpired that afternoon, as my brother never told me.

But Pitnick was in the lunch line a few places behind me the next day glowering as usual, though he never said another word. How did this episode of teen angst color my psyche?

Everyone who knows me today will tell you that I am a 200-pound teddy bear, and that I prefer hugs to slugs.

But there is a little Scott Anthony deep inside that will never forget the burn of embarrassment of not sticking up for myself when assaulted. If I saw Brian Pitnick today, there is no doubt in my mind that I could squash him like bug, but because peace is always better than war, and because I'm only 200 pounds, I'd just call my brother.