“When In The Course…”


When in fights with Dad,

my weapon of every choice*:

Vocabulary!

 

  • (Once, when both less than undrunk, He and I disagreed and he swung a left hook that helped keep him a USS Hornet welterweight Golden Gloves ship’s undefeated champ, I ducked under and pulled a “go-behind” wrestling wrapup move and felt both of us sobering and shaking with “what have we now done,” tussling in front of Mom’s breakfast kitchen window.  We both turned our heads as I released my waistlock hold and wrist-lock accompanyment to see if she had seen our disgrace.  Fightin’ was for the front yard so the neighbors could see and be warned.  And if you broke your brother you had to do his chores until he was fixed.  Nothing was said about him having to trek to Titusville to be Sports Editor/writer-photographer and Editorial Columnist and feature writer/photographer (and doer of obituaries when I knew the unfortunate) nor of me having to go DisneyWorldward – shaven and shorn – to take on his tasks which included casting for Largemouth Black Bass along Mickey’s canals in The Reedy Creek District improvement area’s water pump stations, skinning and dressing roadkill whitetail deer some Disney Truck disputed right-ow-way with, or his lead small engine mechanic position.  She was a stern taskmistress about a broken boy and his breakee.  But she never had to face what we almost presented her.  I once asked elder brother Glenn had he any suchlike tales to tell.  Nope, he averred: I just turned my back on him and worked him into their bedroom window azalea hedge until he couldn’t get out and he laughed.  Youngest, Storm, began with the laugh – and both Glenn and I knew why. More about that later.)

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