Holy crap! I wouldn't call my childhood peaceful, but it never escalated to lethal force.
My dad taught me to fight dirty. Knee to the groin, head-butt to the bridge of the nose, sweep a knee, that kind of thing. While the big guy (Dad's 5'3", I topped out at 5'4") is showing off, the little guy has only one goal -- to walk away.
That said, I talked my way out of more fights than I sucker-punched my way out of. "Wow. Just the three of you against one guy a full head shorter? You're awfully brave. Your parents must be so proud." When the bully's goal is to impress the crowd at the playground, hearing the crowd snicker really takes the wind out of his sails.
"And since he'll be outnumbered, teach him to crush a trachea or snap fingers and wrists. "
Please . . . lay off the caffeine.