To Punch or Be Punched, That Is The Question

This week, one of the prompts on Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop is to "Tell us about something you punched." I now notice that I could have written about punching someTHING instead of someONE, but I already had decided to tell you this true story from my childhood. It's a wonderful story of sticking up for your man!

When I was a little tyke, we lived in a suburb of Chicago.  Surprisingly, we walked to school.  In the early 60's, most kids did walk to school unless you lived in the country.  We also walked home for lunch every day.

When I was in kindergarten, my mom walked me back and forth to school.  But when I became a first-grader, she walked me to the corner.  Then I stopped at a little boy's house and joined up with him to walk the rest of the way to school together.

The little boy's name was Greg.  He had a snaggle-toothed grin and a burr haircut. He was quiet and shy.  I decided that he was my boy-friend.

I was a skinny little kid that was always jumping around with excitement and talking a mile-a-minute. We were the perfect match!

Our favorite time of the day was recess, of course.  I can remember all the kids being in the play-yard at one time, even the huge sixth-graders!  There was a lot of running, skipping rope and hopscotch.  We also played leap frog; one day, leaping over each others backs in a long line as we moved into the classroom.  Leapfrog in the halls was fun!

I really don't know why, but there was a sixth-grade boy who did not like Greg.  He called him "Greggy" in an annoying whiny voice.  He always tried to take away whichever swing or seesaw that Greg tried to use. If no teacher was looking, he liked to shove Greg. He was just a bully.

During a gray day that looked like it could snow any minute, Greg and I got to school early.  Heading over to the playground equipment, I stopped and looked back.  Greg was standing still as a statue staring up into the bully's face.  I don't know what was said, or why, but the bully pulled back his fist and looked like he was going to punch Greg right in the nose.

Not even thinking for one second, I stepped in front of Greg just as the bully's fist connected with MY nose. I was angry.  You don't punch MY boy-friend!

Luckily, my nose was not broken, but I did bleed, which scared all of us! A teacher came up then and sent all of us to the principal's office for fighting.

I don't remember what happened to the other two, but the principal told me it would be wise to stop and think before I stepped into another fight.

She didn't have to tell me twice!

That was the first and only time in my school career that I was called to the principal's office. I don't remember what happened to Greg.  In the middle of second grade I moved to another school district and promptly forgot him.

Years later, I was looking through my husband's school pictures. I found a  picture that showed him sporting a burr haircut and wearing a shirt much like Greg used to wear.  Of course, my hubby was much more adorable than Greg, but it certainly reminded me of my first attempt to stick up for my man!

I guess I've always been a sucker for a burr-head boy!


The above was written in response to a prompt at Mama Kat's Pretty Much World Famous Writer's Workshop.  If you would like, link up here and join the fun!