COMBAT
There have been several battles I have fought as a child. A battle for a child is what helps form their personality rather it is a victory or a loss. Some battles can be a small as sitting still during church, but other can be so big that the person will think of them for the rest of their lives. Need more in this introductory paragraph
I was in kindergarten living in a subdivision outside of Charleston West Virginia. In my neighborhood there were woods to play hide and go seek. Occasionally we played war. One day we weren’t in the woods we found a tree house in one of our friend’s back yard.
In those days I played with my brother, and I’ll neighbor across the street. I don’t remember what exactly we were doing in the tree house. I guess we were just messing around like kids do. Suddenly the neighborhood bully heard us. I don’t remember his name but I remember he had blond hair. On this particular day he had his bee bee gun which was a in the shape of a rifle. My brother and I weren’t allowed to have a bee bee gun.
He started loading it up. Then he started shooting at us in the tree house. The bee bees would either ricochet inside or hit the roof and bounced off. The three of us were ducks on a pond. I started crying hysterically. I think we all did. He kept shooting at us.
I looked up at my older brother with tears in my eyes.
“Are we going to die?” I asked innocently.
My brother wiped the tears out of his eyes, and whispered.
“When he loads again that is when we will run for it.”
We waited as he ran out of bee bees. Then he stopped shooting.
We stepped down the ladder and jumped out of the tree house running for our lives.
We didn’t surrender. We did, however, retreat.
Next in the fifth grade I was at Cherry Hill. It was called Cherry Hill even though nobody ever saw cherries on it. Sometimes underagers went their to drink and smoke cigarettes. Sometimes that was where kids would fight their nemisis of the school day which usually drew a crowd. The hill was usually used for sledding in the winter, but that day in Roanoke Virginia it was spring.
I was with a friend of mine, however my thoughts were distracted. A couple days before my speech therapist said I would never talk like the other kids. I was sure how I could tell anybody because I didn’t think they would understand.
My friend and I just had gone to 7-11 and our mouths were full of candy. The 7-11 was in my neighborhood which was considered to be a rich neighborhood. However when you first entered the houses weren’t as big as the once further up the street.
A kid came out with his brand new bike. It was a Schwinn, and it looked expensive. My parents bought me a Huffy, and it didn’t matter who I was with they usually brought it to my attention that my bike wasn’t as good as their bike.
That was how the rich kid made his presence known. I said a few words the wrong way (because of my speech impediment) and He started to mock me, and make fun of me.
It proved I would never talk like the other kids. I didn’t know what happened but I think the mocking on that day and all the other days mounted up. The words I couldn’t say festered inside me. Imagine wanting to say something but you can’t because you know either someone would not understand or they will mock you. Because of my speech impediament I was a quiet kid by choice even though I had usually had a lot to say. Eventually I took the rich kid’s bike and sent it riding down the hill without a passenger.
I was in awe at the bike when it went further than you would expect a bike to go without someone on it. Finally it hit a bump and went sailing in the air, and then came crashing down.
The rich kid went running down the hill. He dropped to his knees crying over the bike.
I actually started giggling. My friend asked me or whoever was listening.
“What is he doing? It is just a bike.”