Its not the size of the dog in the fight
Its the size of the fight in the dog
My dad used to tell me that when I was little, and the big boys had beat me up. 'Get back out there and fight em' he used to day. I didn't , but I sort of knew what he meant, then one day I saw it and it still brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye.
When I was about 30 ish, I decided that life on the dole was too depressing, my daughter was just about old enough at eleven, to be given a front door key and some responsibility. I couldnt go for a full time job, she was too young to be left alone for that long, but I could go to college and get back home round about the time she got back from school, on lecture days.
So I took a degree at Liverpool university and it worked fine.
On a couple of occasions, over the next few months I caught her crying and asked the usual questions, everything ok with mum?, everything ok at school?, any bullying going on?, need any money to buy anything special from the shops?Do you want to go and live with mum or aunty n?
Nothing. So I kept my eyes open and looked for the little clues.
I knew she got a fair bit of stick because she has red hair, they called her Duracell, the girl with the copper colored top. I also knew that she got a bit of stick in the street because some of the mums just didnt like the idea of a single dad, and there was a fair bit of gossip apparently. My daughter had a friend who was a giant, very tall , who used to be a good friend, but suddenly wasnt any more, the sleep overs suddenly stopped.
One day I was coming back from a lecture, I was 30 mins late so I knew the daughter would have let herself in, and be watching telly, she was totally reliable. As I turned the corner into the street, at the far end I could see a crowd of kids, milling and shouting, a fight. They were about 60 meters away, but I recognised the tall girl, she had someone pinned in the hedges and was really laying into her/him, I mean swinging punches. She was only about twelve, but must have been taller than me.
Some of the kids saw me, heads turned and the big girl backed off. I got this terrible knot in my stomache. A little ginger nut staggered out of the trees looking very wobbly at the knees. She looked around to see what the other kids had stopped for and saw me. One second of eye contact, then wham.
She flew at the bigger girl, arms flailing, punching , scratching and the rest. They both went at each other in a fury then my darling little angel kicked her right in the crotch and the giant went down like a sac de merde. (Apparently hurts females nearly as much as it hurts guys)
I was close now and she said 'hi dad', so I said 'come on, tea time'
Later that night the big girls mum brought her round, kids face all puffy and scratched and said 'look what you daughter has done' I looked at my little girl, she had even more damage, then I looked up at the beanpole and asked her who had put the bruises on my daughter. She tried to avoid any blame and named three other girls. mistake.
The mum looked shell shocked 'Four of you picked on one - just wait till I get you home'
I was on the phone to my daughter yesterday, she is a manager in a supermarket now and she mentioned that she and the beanpole were going to Blackpool soon with the kids. Bestest mates again. hey ho.
but its true, its not the size of the dog in the fight
Its the size of the fight in the dog
My dad used to tell me that when I was little, and the big boys had beat me up. 'Get back out there and fight em' he used to day. I didn't , but I sort of knew what he meant, then one day I saw it and it still brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye.
When I was about 30 ish, I decided that life on the dole was too depressing, my daughter was just about old enough at eleven, to be given a front door key and some responsibility. I couldnt go for a full time job, she was too young to be left alone for that long, but I could go to college and get back home round about the time she got back from school, on lecture days.
So I took a degree at Liverpool university and it worked fine.
On a couple of occasions, over the next few months I caught her crying and asked the usual questions, everything ok with mum?, everything ok at school?, any bullying going on?, need any money to buy anything special from the shops?Do you want to go and live with mum or aunty n?
Nothing. So I kept my eyes open and looked for the little clues.
I knew she got a fair bit of stick because she has red hair, they called her Duracell, the girl with the copper colored top. I also knew that she got a bit of stick in the street because some of the mums just didnt like the idea of a single dad, and there was a fair bit of gossip apparently. My daughter had a friend who was a giant, very tall , who used to be a good friend, but suddenly wasnt any more, the sleep overs suddenly stopped.
One day I was coming back from a lecture, I was 30 mins late so I knew the daughter would have let herself in, and be watching telly, she was totally reliable. As I turned the corner into the street, at the far end I could see a crowd of kids, milling and shouting, a fight. They were about 60 meters away, but I recognised the tall girl, she had someone pinned in the hedges and was really laying into her/him, I mean swinging punches. She was only about twelve, but must have been taller than me.
Some of the kids saw me, heads turned and the big girl backed off. I got this terrible knot in my stomache. A little ginger nut staggered out of the trees looking very wobbly at the knees. She looked around to see what the other kids had stopped for and saw me. One second of eye contact, then wham.
She flew at the bigger girl, arms flailing, punching , scratching and the rest. They both went at each other in a fury then my darling little angel kicked her right in the crotch and the giant went down like a sac de merde. (Apparently hurts females nearly as much as it hurts guys)
I was close now and she said 'hi dad', so I said 'come on, tea time'
Later that night the big girls mum brought her round, kids face all puffy and scratched and said 'look what you daughter has done' I looked at my little girl, she had even more damage, then I looked up at the beanpole and asked her who had put the bruises on my daughter. She tried to avoid any blame and named three other girls. mistake.
The mum looked shell shocked 'Four of you picked on one - just wait till I get you home'
I was on the phone to my daughter yesterday, she is a manager in a supermarket now and she mentioned that she and the beanpole were going to Blackpool soon with the kids. Bestest mates again. hey ho.
but its true, its not the size of the dog in the fight
great story.
lop?
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