Acid for the Children: A Memoir

by Flea

On my very first day, a boy in my class named Jack Irons drew a picture and passed it to the person sitting next to him, who giggled and then passed it to the next kid, the next and so on, it was surreptitiously passed all around the classroom, everyone getting a kick out of it. When it got to me, I saw a drawing of an ugly distorted face covered in boils and scars, snot dripping from its nose. The caption in the cartoon bubble above said, “Hi! I’m Michael Balzary!” I wasn’t gonna act hurt on my first day, so I chose to see the humor in it. Jack Irons was a fighter, everyone would gather around after school and watch him take on the toughest guys. I was impressed with Jackie, but the fighting also freaked me out, I couldn’t imagine doing it. To this day, I’ve never been in a fight. I mean, a few little kid scraps here and there, but not serious fisticuffs. Partly because I’m scared of getting hurt, and partly because it’s the stupidest. So many times I’ve seen people start fighting at gigs, bars, and sporting events; they always seem like complete morons engaged in an ill-conceived attempt to prove their manhood. Peace and love, dude. The world is cruel enough as it is. Everything that is not love is cowardice.