My Love of Fight

My love of fight grew roots that were well nourished in the warp and weft of a lime-green shag carpet in Grandma and Grandpa’s living room. From the time we got up, everything in a Saturday pointed toward ‘wrasslin. Grandpa and I took care of his errands  in the morning, following a comfortably predictable route; grocery store, meat market, Shorty’s Cigar store and then back home for lunch and, finally, ‘wrasslin. We did all our errands on foot, towing Grandpa’s handy cart behind. When I was two years old, Grandpa was driving and we got into a small car accident where I lost my 2 front teeth in a bloody mess on the dashboard. Grandpa could not forgive himself and refused to drive for the rest of his life.

Saturday morning visits to Shorty's Cigar Store

Afternoons allowed Grandpa to  sit back in his grandpa-shaped chair, pack his pipe with his Amphora and enjoy his ‘wrasslin’.

 

Grandpa's brand

Then it started. It always got me in an ‘oh-boy!’ state of mind. I would get so excited, yanking at the strands in the carpet, finding it impossible to sit still. I’d throw air punches, fling my legs around, bounce off imaginary ropes and pound into my invisible opponent flat on the floor to finally pin him for a solid ten-count. And when Haystack came on there was no holding me down. Haystack Calhoun was Grandpa’s favorite so he was my favorite too.

Haystack Calhoun

 

As soon as the show was over, was I ready to take someone on. Without discriminating I would challenge anyone who came around, whether is was a sister, a neighbour or even a boy. Grandma would cluck and complain good-naturedly, “Heavens to Betsy, have you got ants in yer pants?”

I sure did. “Wanna fight?” I’d challenge, wide-eyed and completely wired. But it was all in good fun and I never hurt anyone. Well… not yet.

There are a lot of reasons kids pick on other kids. I had more than my share of pickers. It could have been because I had freckles. Or that I was so darned skinny. Or that I put baby oil in my hair because I thought it would make it shiny like the Breck girl.

 

I wondered, How do you get such shiny hair?

I was convinced, however, that kids wanted to beat me up because I didn’t have a big brother. No one in their right mind picks on a girl who has a big brother. No one, that is, except for me.

Which leads me to my first real fight…

I was walking to school one morning with my little sister, Robin. She was in kindergarten and I was in grade four. About two hundred yards from the school I was jolted with the shock of something crashing into me from behind. Someone had  jumped on my back and knocked me to the ground! Before I knew it, I was channeling  Haystack Calhoun, and with super-girl speed I flung my arm behind, dug my heels into the ground, arched my back, threw my attacker over, scrambled around and come up straddling him. It was none other than my classmate, Jim Ferguson. I knew why he was mad at me. He was the big brother of a kid I had picked on a few weeks earlier. Pinning his chest with my right hand, I pounded him with my left (self defense, of course) while Robin whipped him with her multipurpose skipping rope and screamed, “Leave my sister alone!”

I would get into a whole lot of other scraps, the last one being when I was 19 and I was attacked from behind, again. (I won that one, but that’s another blog.) There have been other times when I was ready for a fight, iron in one hand and bug spray in the other (laugh if you want but I think those are great weapons!) on a dark night when strange noises caused me to believe there was an intruder in the house.

But I never imagined I’d still be fighting at 49.

A good friend pointed it out to me that we are supposed to define and defeat certain demons before we turn fifty. That means I still have a few fights to win before June 9th of this year. That’s actually part of the reason that I didn’t make New Year’s resolutions, that, and the fact that I believe everyday deserves its fair share of resolve and I love the idea of the second chance.

So, I’m taking this to the shag carpet and I’ll be calling out my opponents one by one, going toe-to-toe. No more play-fights. The next time I say, “Wanna fight?” I will show no mercy. Now, if I could just finds me some spinach!

If You Went to High School With Me

(This is a special blog  written for anyone who was in high school with me.)

The summer of 1975, just after my Grandpa Livingstone passed away, Dad announced that we were moving. None of us wanted to leave. Not even Mom. Later Mom would tell the story from her perspective, of how dad declared one day, “I’m moving to Manitouwadge, whether you come or not”.

Grandpa Has A Hole In His Thumb

Grandpa had no idea how much social influence his injury gave us. Other kids had their claim to fame, but whether it was a shiny new 1967 Centennial silver dollar,

1967 Centennial Silver Dollar

…their Schwinn with the new banana seat,

1965 Schwinn with Banana Seat!

…or their state-of-the-art bendable Barbie,