My mother had rules about fights. She was raising two sons on Marine bases, so she couldn’t ban them altogether. But she hedged them around with restrictions. The first rule was strictly practical. Don’t fight when you’re wearing new clothes. Which I was, ironically. The second rule could be viewed as ethical or moral, but to my mother it was simply correct, which was a whole other word in French. The second rule was never start a fight. But the third rule was never lose one, either.
