Have
you ever gotten to the point where you just couldn't take
any more abuse? I have! About 23 years ago I decided to
take that old adage seriously. You know, the one that goes:
DON'T GET MAD, GET EVEN!
Do you know what? It works! At least it worked for me. To
get this into perspective, I will have to give you a little
background information on my childhood and family. My parents
both worked through the week, and my brother was supposed
to watch me after school until my folks got home at 5 p.m.
Mike, my brother, was 16 years old, approximately 6 feet
tall, and weighed about 210 pounds. I was 10 years old,
weighed about 60 pounds, and was the original wimp.
During
the afternoons while we were waiting for Mom and Dad, "Mike
The Bully" was boss. I was more or less his slave.
If he told me to do something, and I didn't do it, or didn't
do it fast enough to suit him, he would thump me between
the eyes. To understand just how painful this was, you would
have to see Mike's hands. If I told you that as a small
child holding his hand to cross the street, I could only
get a grip on his little finger, that might give you an
idea of just how big his hands were. At any rate, one day
I decided I'd had enough: I was going to show him just how
painful being hit between the eyes could be.
On this
particular afternoon when we got home, Mike decided to lay
down on the couch and take a short nap until it was time
for my folks to get home. As usual, he told me to sit in
my chair and not move - which I usually argued about. This
time I went straight to my chair with a smile on my face
and revenge in my heart. I waited quietly in my seat until
I was positive that he was sound asleep. When I felt it
was safe to get up, I started to move furniture out of my
way so I would have a clear path. Once that was done, I
propped open the back door and opened the gate into the
backyard so that I could make a clean getaway. Then I went
around to the back of the house where I had seen a case
full of empty Coke bottles and chose my weapon.
I walked
back into the house and took a last look around to make
sure I hadn't forgotten anything, took a deep breath and
walked to the couch with the Coke bottle securely in my
hand. I leaned over and touched Mike on the shoulder and
softly called his name. When he opened his eyes, I LET HIM
HAVE IT RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES. Before he had a chance to
react, I dropped the bottle, did a 180 turn, and took off
fast.
I went
through the house, out the back door, into the back yard,
and then stopped in terror! I had made a fatal error in
my planning. I forgot to open the gate that led into the
alley. Normally I could not jump two feet off the ground,
but this time I did something I'm still not sure how I managed.
I put my left hand on top of the five-foot cyclone fence
and sailed over without a hitch. When my feet hit the ground
I was already moving. I didn't dare let him catch me before
I got to where my folks were working.
When
I reached my folks, I stayed with them until time to come
home. They kept asking me what I was grinning about. I couldn't
tell them what I had done, so I just smiled and told them
I felt good. When we got home, Mike was sitting on the back
porch with a piece of ice on his nose. The doctor told my
Mom that his nose was broken.
It's
23 years later now, and Mike still hasn't told anyone who
it was that broke his nose that day. I wonder if it's because
he doesn't want to admit to being bested by a 10-year-old
girl. When I decided to strike back, and stop allowing him
to make me his victim, we became good friends. He doesn't
thump me between the eyes anymore. Can't you tell? They
haven't put me in jail for murder yet.
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