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When I was a kid, I had a brother who liked
to cause me a lot of pain. I'm not speaking metaphorically. When
I was about 9 years old (he was 3 years older than I), he held
me on the floor and told me that he was going to hit me in the
stomach. He was going to keep hitting me in the stomach, each
time with greater force, to find out how hard he could hit me
without causing permanent damage. Then he proceeded to do so. I ended up being taken to the emergency
room. I was diagnosed with having torn internal muscle tissue,
and rest was advised. I have no idea whether I told my parents
about this. My memories about why or why not are a little confused.
I do know that my brother convinced me from a very early age,
as early as I can remember, that the world of adults and the
world of children were two separate worlds, and that children
always kept secrets from adults. We didn't tell our parents about
our lives, and we didn't tell on each other. I also know that when I did tell on him,
two things tended to happen. If it was something really serious,
such as the above-described beating that ended up with me in
the emergency room, my father did not believe me. If it was less
serious, my father was disappointed with me because I was a wimp.
Men were supposed to be tough and not complain. "Don't complain and don't explain,"
is the motto by which I was raised. To this day my father does not know the
things my brother did to me. You don't want to know either. My brother was not only 3 years older than
me, he was also a gifted, natural athlete. Over the years he
became an exceptional football player. What really kept him from
making it as a football player was the fact that he enjoyed inflicting
pain too much. He played defensive guard and weighed 165
pounds when he graduated from High School. Those among you who
know anything about football, and the size of the average lineman,
even in High School, have some idea of the speed and strength
he must have had to play that position. As a High School Senior he had more tackles
than any other player in the state, but he was not chosen as
an All State player. He was so fast that he would pause on his
way through the line to hit his opponent an extra couple of times
just for the pleasure of it. This was a 165 pound lineman going
against kids who weighted 240, 260 pounds in those days. This
was the kid who was 3 years older than me against whom I had
to contend in physical combat on a nearly daily basis. He would rather take another opportunity
to inflict pain than ensure that he got the tackle. He was right about a couple of things.
I did learn to fight. I did learn not to be afraid of other people.
It didn't win me any friends. For example, when our family moved
to a new city when I was 12 years old, the kids in my middle
school put me through the standard hazing. My brother had taught
me how to handle things when a group gangs up on you. They played keep-away, where someone would
take something of mine, like my hat, and when I went after the
person who had the hat, he would throw it to somebody else. I
was supposed to keep running after the hat while they laughed
and made fun of me. But I knew how to handle this, courtesy
of my brother. Somebody took my hat. When I went to get it from
him, he threw it to someone else. Instead of going after the
hat, I beat the crap out of the guy who had taken it. Then I
went after the next guy who had my hat and beat the crap out
of him. When they came at me as a group, I took
my beating. Getting beat up was a daily event for me. It was
no big deal. Afterwards I hunted my tormentors down, when they
were alone, and beat the crap out of them, one by one. After awhile, the hazing stopped. Everybody left me alone. The downside was that I didn't have any friends. Except for my brother of course. He was always there for me.
©Jon Norland 2008 Jon Norland has a bachelor's degree in Physics and a Masters in Mechanical Engineering. He was also accidentally entered into a graduate program in English Literature just by showing up and taking classes one year. He was born into a military family, raised as an Air Force brat, and has never stopped traveling. He is currently in the process of moving out of his current house, which he has lived in for five years. He admits this is a lifetime record for living in the same house. He spent the decade of his thirties wandering around the old West, seeing it before it disappeared. He feels it is gone now. He has worked as a wilderness surveyor when he didn't need money badly, and as a construction engineer when he had to put together enough money to take a winter off to ski or go to school. Jon has spent most of his adult career writing software of one kind or another. He is currently disabled. The proximate cause was a paragliding accident, but feels he would have ended up disabled by now anyway as he was born with a bad back, which has made a lifetime career of finding new ways to disintegrate. According to Jon, The only good thing that has come from being disabled is that he has discovered a knack for writing poetry. Pain is an old acquaintance of his, but never a friend. |
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