I always had a pretty humble goal: just land one good punch.

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

Thanks for the boxing idea. Now I have a black eye to wear to school tomorrow.

Dear Dad,

Thanks for the boxing idea. Now I have a black eye to wear to school tomorrow.

I did find one and one-half old pairs of boxing gloves. The half-pair is only a left glove. Rhett showed me where they were, down in the basement, stuck up in the rafters by an ancient coconut that was shipped from Hawaii. Jeez, Dad, these must be the oldest boxing gloves in Washington State. The liners are all torn up inside, so it feels like I’m sticking my hands into bags of stuffing. It takes about five minutes to get my thumbs in the thumbholes. Rhett found the heavy bag, too. It looks homemade—like a big army duffel bag stuffed full of clothes and sand or something.

We used some rope and hung it up back by the washing machine and took turns pummeling it. I was trying to get in the stance you described to me, but Rhett kept getting impatient, waiting for his turn and yelling at me to hurry up, so I’m not sure I did it right.

Then Rhett said he’d box me one handed. I put on the full pair of gloves and he put on the extra left and kept his other hand behind his back. I was poking at him with my left, jabbing like you said. And it worked, kind of. I was jabbing at his stomach and he kept bringing his one hand down to block it. So one time when he brought his hand down, I brought my right around and hit him pretty hard in the side of the head.

He was surprised all right. He stared at me and his eyes watered a bit, then pow, his ungloved right hand came out of nowhere and caught me right in the eye. I fell down and Rhett said it served me right and how did it feel and great, now he was going to get in trouble from Mom for giving me a black eye.

Boy, did he ever give me one, too. It swelled almost all the way shut by the time Mom came home. Rhett said I should put a raw steak on it, but there was no way I was going to listen to him after what he did to me so I watched TV with my one good eye while my other one was covered in a bag of frozen peas.

When Mom came home, she asked where we got the idea to box. I lied and said I didn’t know, so you owe me one for covering for you.

I really don’t want to go to school with a black eye.

Your son,

Trevor