A Slight Dispute
by Glanda Widger
eight, and his best friend, Freddy, age nine,
were playing a one-on-one game of baseball in the
back yard. Bobby hit the ball and started running
the bases. An old deflated beach ball, first base.
The flat rock that refused to be dug up, second
base. Third base was Freddys book bag.
touched home plate, his mothers clothespin
bag, Freddy objected: "You missed second
base. That aint no home run."
would you like a black eye?"
well how would you like a punch in the nose?"
aint gonna punch me cause you are a big
chicken. Come on chicken, brauuk brauuk, take
your best shot. I dare you."
up his fists and advanced on his sworn enemy.
"I will, I swear it. You better shut up."
not resist the challenge. "Nah, you
aint gonna do nothin you chicken."
think so? Well take that! Now am I still a
Im gonna tell! Look, I got a broke nose.
Im gonna tell your mom."
Bobby, I didnt mean it honest. Look, there
aint hardly no blood at all. Dont
tell mom. If you do she will make us stop playing
together and you are my best friend in the whole
injun. Hey wanna go to my house for koolaid?"
sure. You got grape flavor?"
yeah. We always got grape. It is my all time
The two boys
walked off arm in arm, chatting happily about the
merits of grape koolaid. I, on the other hand,
needed a glass of wine to steady my nerves.
Raising kids is tough. Having your idiot husband
holding you back from rescuing your only child,
while laughing like a hyena and insisting the
boys will work it out, is devastating.
Maybe I should
just punch him in the nose!