The events of the last few days (general bickering) have gotten me thinking odd things from my past (sound of "wayback machine" warming up...
When Mighty1 and I were growing up, it didn't take me long to learn that he was a guy that always evened the score. He wasn't loud about it, but you knew if you crossed him you would pay. I suppose that is natural in a family with 6 kids living under one roof- siblings have to mark and protect their territories, establish the "pecking order", and develop an identity. Mighty did all of that.
We had two much younger siblings that had all the preferential treatment the favored children might have, but that didn't stop Mighty1. The "Golden Children" might appear to have gotten away with some breach of his boundaries, but he knew that, when they least expected it, the payback would come. They knew it, too. To this day, when we all visit our mother's house and Mighty walks down the hall, those two siblings flatten out against the wall to let him through.
Time marched on, and we all grew to adulthood, were married, and started families. One summer's eve we, along with a few friends, went camping. Being guys, we of course packed the essentials; beer, chips, hot dogs, beer, buns, marshmellows, beer... It turned out that one of my friends was a drinking lightweight, and worse was an obnoxious drunk. For whatever reason, he picked Mighty1 to annoy.
Now, at 6 foot 2 inches and 280lbs. Mighty doesn't so much resemble a man as he does a Kodiak bear. With barrel chest and ham-sized fists, he would make the normal bar patron check medical and dental insurance before starting any trouble. One would think my friend would have taken note of such physical attributes, but ah... I remember my first beer...
Anyway, he starts flailing on Mighty's shoulder- pushing on him, pestering him, getting loud- the whole smear. Instinctively I begin to tense, because I know this isn't going to go too far. To his credit, Mighty did take it for a while. Then, inevitably, he gave me that look I had been waiting for- the one that said "He's
your friend, not mine, and I've had enough!" I must have given him the equivalent of a shrug, because the lightning fell the next instant.
It was really more of a slap, an open-handed cuff that rose from the hip that placed the back of Mighty's hand smartly into the crotch of my friend. The friend immediately took a bow, then brought himself upright and cursed. In he charged again, flailing away like a jilted transvestite on Jerry Springer.
SMACK! Again, another sharp shot to the crotch. Another bow (a little deeper this time) and in he came again. Each time the friend came in, the shot to the crotch got a little harder, the bow a little deeper, and still he came. It was like watching a cat trying to learn- you wonder just how many times it will bump its head into a wall before it figures out it can't catch a beam of light.
Eventually the friends wife pulls him off and drags him away.
Now you might think that Mighty was a bully for what happened. I can assure you that everyone there knew that he wasn't, and was amazed at the restraint he had shown under the conditions. He could have easily hospitalized the guy- as it was, my friend only found it difficult to walk the next day. He was also very sorry for his behavior the night before. He does not bear a grudge, because he knew it could have been much, MUCH worse, and it had been entirely his fault to begin with.
I think at times we all act like the drunk friend- we really aren't bad people, but we lose (temporarily) the ability to reason through a situation. We can always rest assured their will be someone to deliver that shot to the crotch we need to wake us up. If that fails, we can usually count on someone near by to try to drag us back a bit and talk to us. If we are wise we pay attention- unless we just like getting slapped in the crotch! *shudder*
[This message has been edited by Kieren (edited 07-27-2000).]
