November 24th, 2009
Dear Trevor,
Oh, my son, I am sorry. Mostly.
I am jealous, too. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to spar with someone. To feel battered and out of breath. You shouldn’t wear your black eye with any kind of shame at all. Wear it with pride. Patton—he was a general in World War Two and kind of a jerk—was shot through the buttocks during World War One and was famous for dropping his pants to show his scar. If Patton took pride in a butt scar, you can certainly take pride in a black eye.
Let Mudgett know how you got it. Tell him you were boxing with your brother who is five years older than you. Tell him your brother retaliated after you rang his bell. Give Mudgett something to think about.
Stick with it. Here’s lesson number two—the jab:
Remember, you’re jabbing with your forward hand—your left hand. So you got your hands up about chin high, palms facing each other, formed into fists, but relaxed. You’re on your toes, with your right foot back.
In one motion, you’re going to push off from your right foot, step forward with your left, then do a quick punch with your left hand. As your hand goes forward, you’re going to twist your hand so that the punch lands palm-down. As soon as you land that punch, push back off your left foot and get out of reach. Land on your right foot and get ready to do it again.
Once more: Push off from the right foot. Step forward lightly with the left. Quickly punch your right hand straight forward, landing the punch palm-down. Push back with your left foot and get back into position. You’re popping forward and back. Pow. Pow. Pow.
Do that for a while on the heavy bag. Don’t even worry about your right hand yet.
When my neighbor Carl sees me shadow boxing on my porch, he comes over to give advice and to watch. “You’re flat-footed again, you old Welsh bag of bones,” he yells. “Put your chin down. Don’t give ‘em so much of a target.” “Keep your elbows in.” He and I were lucky enough to grow up in an era where a little friendly boxing was a pretty stress-free rite of passage. It wasn’t that big of a deal if you won or lost. It was more about if you could take a licking. At least, that’s how I remember it.
Think about this, Trevor. You got socked right in the eye by a kid five years older than Will Mudgett. Sure, you got a black eye. But you survived just fine. Bags of peas, embarrassment—you can handle those. Throw in a fat lip, a bloody nose and maybe even a chipped tooth. You can handle those as well.
When I was a kid and got into a fight, I always had a pretty humble goal: just land one good punch.
Dad
Dear Trevor,
Oh, my son, I am sorry. Mostly.
I am jealous, too. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to spar with someone. To feel battered and out of breath. You shouldn’t wear your black eye with any kind of shame at all. Wear it with pride. Patton—he was a general in World War Two and kind of a jerk—was shot through the buttocks during World War One and was famous for dropping his pants to show his scar. If Patton took pride in a butt scar, you can certainly take pride in a black eye.
Let Mudgett know how you got it. Tell him you were boxing with your brother who is five years older than you. Tell him your brother retaliated after you rang his bell. Give Mudgett something to think about.
Stick with it. Here’s lesson number two—the jab:
Remember, you’re jabbing with your forward hand—your left hand. So you got your hands up about chin high, palms facing each other, formed into fists, but relaxed. You’re on your toes, with your right foot back.
In one motion, you’re going to push off from your right foot, step forward with your left, then do a quick punch with your left hand. As your hand goes forward, you’re going to twist your hand so that the punch lands palm-down. As soon as you land that punch, push back off your left foot and get out of reach. Land on your right foot and get ready to do it again.
Once more: Push off from the right foot. Step forward lightly with the left. Quickly punch your right hand straight forward, landing the punch palm-down. Push back with your left foot and get back into position. You’re popping forward and back. Pow. Pow. Pow.
Do that for a while on the heavy bag. Don’t even worry about your right hand yet.
When my neighbor Carl sees me shadow boxing on my porch, he comes over to give advice and to watch. “You’re flat-footed again, you old Welsh bag of bones,” he yells. “Put your chin down. Don’t give ‘em so much of a target.” “Keep your elbows in.” He and I were lucky enough to grow up in an era where a little friendly boxing was a pretty stress-free rite of passage. It wasn’t that big of a deal if you won or lost. It was more about if you could take a licking. At least, that’s how I remember it.
Think about this, Trevor. You got socked right in the eye by a kid five years older than Will Mudgett. Sure, you got a black eye. But you survived just fine. Bags of peas, embarrassment—you can handle those. Throw in a fat lip, a bloody nose and maybe even a chipped tooth. You can handle those as well.
When I was a kid and got into a fight, I always had a pretty humble goal: just land one good punch.
Dad
Filed under Dad Letters | Tags: adolescence, afterlife, black eye, boxing, bullying, fatherhood, heavy bag, jab, junior high school, letter, middle school, purgatory | Comment (0)