You can see the little one is wise to his brothers tactics.
4 thoughts on “Brothers”
Brothers are the same, doesn’t matter what family or where… that was my brother and me.
The trouble with younger brothers is sometimes they grow and become bigger brothers.
I have two older half brothers and they terrorized us younger kids back in the day. Their idea of fun was to lock us, as a five year old and a three year old, in a dark closet so the monsters could get us. Then they would pound on the outside of the closet and make all kinds of moaning and screaming noises. Great fun for them, pissed britches and a belt from the old man for us when he got home and found we had soiled ourselves.
Well one older brother headed south of the border one year just a jump ahead of john law and was there for ten or twelve years until he got his legal troubles sorted out. By then I was twenty three, running a cattle ranch and stronger than a bull.
He came back north of the border to help the old man, who was recovering from a heart attack. In his minds eye I was still that scrawny twelve year old that couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. Well we got to tussling around and he got his feeling hurt when he couldn’t best me and tried to knee me in the nuts. I deflected his knee and told him so far we had been playing around but if he wanted to get serious about it we could head outside where we wouldn’t wreck mom’s house and have at it. He threw a little hissy fit and went into the front room to sulk. Later that night as I was leaving he decided the way to beat me was to slip up behind me in the dark and sucker kick me in the back.
I heard him running across the grass and turned around to see him in a flying leap, basically horizontal to the ground. I reached out, grabbed him by the crotch and his throat, squeezed as hard as I could and body slammed him with everything I had on the ground. Damn, it took all the fun out of it for him. The old man told me it took him a couple of days before he could walk straight again. Served him right.
He left to head back south of the border a few weeks later and I haven’t seen him in nigh on to forty years. No great loss as near as I can tell.
wes
wtdb
Watch a lot of Kung Fu back in the day?
I didn’t, but he fancied himself some type of kung fu something or other. He was always throwing those star things around. I remember one time he knocked himself sillier than shit with nunchucks (sp). It was funnier than all get out watching him stagger around with blood running streaming everywhere from a split scalp after he hit himself in the back of the head.
Me on the other hand I grew up on the south side of the train tracks, and was a total fucking asshole, still am for that matter. My old man was a thief and a mover as a result, so by the time I graduated high school I had attended 14 schools and fighting was a way of life for survival. I can’t blame all the moves on him as I moved out on my own when I was fourteen but I didn’t know any other life than being a mover.
I don’t have any fancy fighting skills other than gutter survival where if you weren’t smarter, stronger and meaner than the other guy you got your ass kicked. I did too, get my ass kicked a few times, but not nearly as often the other assholes.
Brothers are the same, doesn’t matter what family or where… that was my brother and me.
The trouble with younger brothers is sometimes they grow and become bigger brothers.
I have two older half brothers and they terrorized us younger kids back in the day. Their idea of fun was to lock us, as a five year old and a three year old, in a dark closet so the monsters could get us. Then they would pound on the outside of the closet and make all kinds of moaning and screaming noises. Great fun for them, pissed britches and a belt from the old man for us when he got home and found we had soiled ourselves.
Well one older brother headed south of the border one year just a jump ahead of john law and was there for ten or twelve years until he got his legal troubles sorted out. By then I was twenty three, running a cattle ranch and stronger than a bull.
He came back north of the border to help the old man, who was recovering from a heart attack. In his minds eye I was still that scrawny twelve year old that couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. Well we got to tussling around and he got his feeling hurt when he couldn’t best me and tried to knee me in the nuts. I deflected his knee and told him so far we had been playing around but if he wanted to get serious about it we could head outside where we wouldn’t wreck mom’s house and have at it. He threw a little hissy fit and went into the front room to sulk. Later that night as I was leaving he decided the way to beat me was to slip up behind me in the dark and sucker kick me in the back.
I heard him running across the grass and turned around to see him in a flying leap, basically horizontal to the ground. I reached out, grabbed him by the crotch and his throat, squeezed as hard as I could and body slammed him with everything I had on the ground. Damn, it took all the fun out of it for him. The old man told me it took him a couple of days before he could walk straight again. Served him right.
He left to head back south of the border a few weeks later and I haven’t seen him in nigh on to forty years. No great loss as near as I can tell.
wes
wtdb
Watch a lot of Kung Fu back in the day?
I didn’t, but he fancied himself some type of kung fu something or other. He was always throwing those star things around. I remember one time he knocked himself sillier than shit with nunchucks (sp). It was funnier than all get out watching him stagger around with blood running streaming everywhere from a split scalp after he hit himself in the back of the head.
Me on the other hand I grew up on the south side of the train tracks, and was a total fucking asshole, still am for that matter. My old man was a thief and a mover as a result, so by the time I graduated high school I had attended 14 schools and fighting was a way of life for survival. I can’t blame all the moves on him as I moved out on my own when I was fourteen but I didn’t know any other life than being a mover.
I don’t have any fancy fighting skills other than gutter survival where if you weren’t smarter, stronger and meaner than the other guy you got your ass kicked. I did too, get my ass kicked a few times, but not nearly as often the other assholes.
wes
wtdb