AJ The Winner in '91
The toys last longer than the boys. On a day no different than the other 4,320 before, a Mom picks up the toys, loads them in the toy box, closes the lid and without knowing it, she turns a page; a new chapter. The toys rest in darkness and the boy shines in the light of a new day; a day without the instruments of childhood.
That toy box in the corner of the basement holds memories and magic. My five year old nephew Noah discovered the buried treasure yesterday. Once the lid was lifted, the magic was let loose and I was pulled 15 years back in time. Out came the orange Ninja head band, the wooden sword and shield, the black cape, nerf guns, footballs galore, helicopters, plastic cars, Batman stuff, broken everything, and The Boxing Gloves. How many Dads bought their sons boxing gloves before the son turned four??? I did.
The two pair (father and son set)of red and white gloves have been reduced by Doc to 1-1/2 pair. Three gloves. Aaron had big hands as a little guy so his choppers didn't fit inside the little gloves. Good for me because Aaron could pack a punch and I took a pounding even with him swinging the big gloves. I'm sure Patrick and Aaron did their share of championship bouts in our basement. Aaron let Patrick win no more than a few rounds; just enough to keep him interested enough to come back for more of a whoopin'.
Noah and I dug through the box like kids who knew the really good stuff was going to be at the bottom. Oh, we liked what was on top...the same way a 5 year old likes the first Christmas present of the morning; "That's neat, what's this?!?!" First we mended the wooden shield. The sword was held together by teenage roofing nails. Long ago the sword was repaired more than once to fight another day. Now the shield was healed. The set was a favorite of Aaron's and Noah claimed it as his. I got the usual "Branded" style sword--broken and short.
After slicing me to pieces, Noah pulled out the Boxing Gloves. He got them on in a split second. I was just getting up off of the floor and back to my knees...that's as high as you should get when doing battle with a little person who doesn't swing much more than 3 feet above your's. I should have seen it coming. I fought the kids cousin in '91. This one's got the same style--fast and relentless. The right hook was followed by a left-right-left-right combination. All five punches scored and I was down. There was no letting up from the aggressor. I knew what to do; I'm a child of the nuclear '60's--I ducked and covered.
My first thought while being counted out was one of da-ja-vu. How long had it been since I lost my last title fight? Too long. I want to turn the pages back to the beginning. The ache in my heart hurt more than the stinging in my head.
Noah went home today. We had lunch at DQ in Portage. Noah and I talked about the fun he had with Patrick. They built on their special bond. We talked about his big buddy Aaron. Noah told me he was glad the crying was over. He said it hurt his ears. I told him I agreed--it hurts my ears, and the rest of my body, too.
We left the toys scattered on the floor for Patrick to pick up--the basement is his space now.
Taking a standing eight count,
Tom
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