More Weird Stuff

I woke this morning to the memory of something that happened when I was about six-years-old. It was just after an evening Christmas Eve Program at a little country Church. We kids were busily diving into our treat bags, devouring the candies and leaving the peanuts and Christmas oranges for last. The Church was warm. I’d play the role as a king rather well. We were about to head home to open gifts. Life was good. It was then that Dale Walters came up to me and told me to punch him in the stomach.

By the age of six, I’d compiled a mental list of things that I knew could get me into trouble. Punching someone was near the top. Showing maturity beyond my years I declined.

“C’mon, punch me. As hard as you can.”

“Go away Dale. I want to eat my orange.”

“What’s the matter? You scared? Hit me in the stomach.”

“I don’t want to hit you,” I lied. “Go away.”

I moved to go around him. Dale stepped in front of me.

“C’mon. Hit me just once and I’ll let you go.”

I glanced around. All the adults seemed to have their backs turned to us. My parents were nowhere in sight. Smashing him in the mouth was out of the question. The stomach however - A fortuitous moment was before me. Destiny forced it’s way into my life. Only fear and good judgement were holding me back. I let him have it; right in the gut.

Dale Walters howled. I became aware that I was wearing a tie and he wasn’t. He ran to his mother and pointed in my direction.

I didn’t know the phrase at the time, but something like W.T.F. made its way through my mind.

Dale Walters, face beet red and tears dripping down his cheeks clung to his mother’s leg. She, with her hand on his head, turned back to her conversation. We went home to open our presents.

I wonder how Dale Walters remembers this incident.