When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle had a baby, named Carson. We’re not sure what part of the gene pool he came from. To illustrate my point, allow me to show his hair.
His hair naturally forms into wondrously tight curls that many women pay thousands of dollars a year to recreate. An inch of hair on his head, when straightened, becomes roughly six inches when all is said and done.
I was a responsible, mature child, (that sound you hear is my family’s hysterical laughter) and I was occasionally allowed to babysit him. He always turned it into a wrestling match, usually in my grandparents’ basement. Because I was five years older and sixty pounds heavier, I always won.
It was not going to last. I’m not exactly sure when, but at some point he got bigger than me.
I never pointed this out, for fear that he would try to steal my crown. Not that it mattered. He figured it out anyway.
One fateful Christmas Day, we went up to my Grandma’s for lunch and presents. I wandered into the kitchen, and all of the sudden the theme from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly started playing. Carson’s ears perked, his eyes began to glow red, and time seemed to slow as I watched Satan himself barrel towards me.
He tackled me into a door, sending my aunt flying into the living room. My grandma began shouting “STOP IT, STOP IT,” as my uncles cheered him on.
My father once said to me,
And I think he said it after watching this. It became quite apparent I was losing, especially about thirty seconds in when Carson got me in a chokehold.
My oxygen-starved brain was only seconds from turning out the lights when it came up with a desperate plan. Ever heard of a purple nurple? This was much worse. I grabbed his entire left pectoral muscle….and twisted.
Carson squealed like a stuck pig, and increased the pressure on my throat. With my last conscious thought, I twisted harder, and began the swift slide into oblivion.
Suddenly, I could breathe. Carson was staggering away from me, rubbing his torso, trying hard not to cry.
I could hardly call it a glorious victory considering I had slowly sunk to the floor wheezing through a sore windpipe, so we declared it a tie. Neither one of us has ever tried to attack the other again.
Carson’s mission farewell was today. He is going to Spain, in the same mission as his father twenty years ago.
Good luck, Carson. I’ve watched you go from a little baby to a teenager who drove my sisters to distraction in the pipe field,
and finally into an impressive young man. I know you will do great. Just don’t put your investigators in choke holds if they annoy you.