That's gotta hurt

The day, a Sunday. The time, early afternoon. The place, our kitchen. The men of the family, my dad, two younger brothers, and I were all standing on the linoleum. My brothers were getting ready for a Upward Bound basketball game, a church league basketball operation for ages 12 and under. Tommy was 12, and Joey was 10.

We were having a normal conversation for the time, with Tommy and Joey making fun of each other, Dad telling them to quit, and myself egging the action on.

But this conversation was different. In this conversation, Joey was going to take a stand; he was tired of being the butt of all our jokes. So after one particular comment, (Joey you shoot like a girl), he decided he had had enough of all our shenanigans.

He planned his attack with precision. Waiting until the older and larger Tommy was enjoying a spoonful of vanilla pudding, he struck. With lightening speed and without a word, he pivoted to the left, whipped his left leg across his body with accuracy and authority, and made direct contact with Tommy’s groin. Tommy, obviously caught of guard and in immense pain, let out a yelp and crumpled helplessly to the floor.

I immediately looked at Dad, whose initial reaction was much like Joe Theismann’s when he saw Terrell Owens pull a Sharpie from his sock on Monday Night Football. He laughed. His eyes widened in shock, and he laughed. But the laughter died almost instantly, as Dad switched from funny to pissed in a heartbeat.

His loud voice filled the room, and all but drowned out Tommy’s painful sobs coming from our feet. Dad closed the gap between him and Joey, and let him know that without a doubt that what he did was wrong. Joey was sent to his room, and Tommy was left to recover his comfort and his pride.