When I was a boy, about 3 or 4, and my uncle Grady took me and bought me some cowboy boots, the kind with pointy toes.
Later, he was sitting in his big easy chair reading the newspaper, and I come up in front of him where he couldn't see me and I kicked him in the shin with the new boots he had bought me just as hard as I could.
Down came the newspaper, and he backhanded me, hard, and I went flying across the room and into the wall.
I was crying as I got up, rubbing my head and said "Why you want to hit me for Uncle Grady".
Most of my lessons seem to come that way.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
THE FATAL BOOTS
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3 comments:
Oh Bullets, you keep me coming back.
Reminds me of one of my own early days stories, albeit less painful. My dad was pissed at me for something that I was ignorant of, and he told me I was grounded for 2 days. I think I was 7 or 8. I blurted out, "that's ok, I didn't want to go out anyway". Of course, he responded with an extra 5 days.
I didn’t start getting grounded until I was about 14. I guess I’d gotten too big to whup.
So when I got grounded, I would go in my room and crank up the Black Sabbath. They usually suspended the sentence before too long.
Thanks for stopping in Low Rider. I tend to post in fits and spurts, and I don’t get around to comment on other blogs, so I don’t get as many guests as I used to.
Those fairies wear boots. . . I'll bet they didn't like Iron Man either!
Well, your writing is good and your stories are excellent. I check on a regular basis, but have only commented a couple of times.
Keep up the good work!
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