A Kick to the Nuts

Well, for all my Minnesota Viking’s fan friends, they are probably thinking this is about them after that Monday night beat down. While I would like to rub it in this blog is not about them.

In a way the game inspired me to finally write about this topic, however I picked the topic almost right after I finished my last entry. Because when it comes to memorable, sequential events of my life a single kick to the nuts is a moment I will never forget and fits in right about here.

When I was eight years old I was at least as big as the eighth graders in the booming Village of Eden, WI. I was wearing your Pappa Jim’s clothes already too. This all meant I had no possible way of being high fashion and I was a clear target for the Village Bully to stake his claim.

Whenever the Village Bully would get his chance, I would get a pink belly, a wedgie, a charlie horse, pushed, shoved or embarrassed in some other fashion. One fantastic winter afternoon the Village Bully would get his due.

It all started with a game of king of the hill on the snow hill across the street from our house, and with your uncle Mike watching from the front porch I ventured out to knock the king off the hill and with one trip up the hill I caught the king not looking and watched him roll to the bottom.

The king was the Village Bully who was in his first year of high school. I was so proud of myself, I had my moment of glory. I was eight, he was a ninth grader and I was king of the hill. Only one problem, he was pissed!!!!

He came up the hill determined to get his spot back, so I relinquished it before he even got there and started to run down the other side of the hill. However, his spot had nothing to do with the top of the hill. He was going to get his spot back by kicking my ass.

I remember getting tackled, hit, getting up, trying to run away, getting tackled, getting hit, crying and trying to get away. It seemed to go on for hours, but was probably only minutes.

Then I remember hearing through my own crying. “Get away from my brother.” Your Uncle Mike had come to my defense and was immediately ignored. Big mistake.

He knew from all our own fighting the quickest way to end the fight. Literally seconds after being ignored, that’s how he ended my fall from being the king of the hill. He was four, no where near the bully’s size and that bully got his nuts kicked. The bully’s status as a bully was never quite the same.

This ultimately is one of those stories I will never forget and there is actually a lot that I learned from it. The simplest is stand up to bullies and they eventually will stop, I think mine lived in fear that my little brother might be around.

One of the other lessons is about the power of family. The power of family and the fearlessness it provides in protecting those you love is something that has been demonstrated in many acts throughout history. My most vivid experience in this was that single kick to the nuts.


How I Met Your Mother

I guess I’m feeling a bit excited about this whole blogging thing today so I might as well just keep going. Don’t worry my energy will probably fade and life will interrupt as it always does.

I just posted on Facebook last weekend that my pointless accomplishment for the year was watching every episode of How I Met Your Mother. Your mother actually liked watching that show and I just didn’t get it so I always gave her a hard time for watching the openly gay guy who used to play a teenage doctor play a womanizer. I finally gave the show a chance over Labor Day weekend at your Uncle Steve’s urging and I loved it.

The show is actually about a father telling his kids about how he met their mother, this is the short story about how I met your mother.

As I am sure I will get to at some point, I dropped out of college the first time I went because my football career came to less than a glorious end. As a result I found myself back in good old Fond du Lac, WI and when I met your mother I was working in a feed mill mixing animal feed and driving a bulk feed truck.

On an evening where I was hanging out with my friend Steve, who had also lost his way when it came to higher education a bit, we went to his house and your mother was sitting on the couch wearing a friend’s pair of packer mittens. She was a friend of Steve’s brother Paul.

A couple of days later she had got my number and called to ask me out on a date. About seven years later we got married.

The lesson you can take from this post is, your mother is always right. After all she picked me and she knew well before I did that How I Met Your Mother was a great show. I could come up with a lot more reasons, but let’s just stop with those because most of them make me look much more stupid.


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