It was 1973, Nixon had not yet resigned, U. S. troops were still in Vietnam. We had three channels to choose from. Drug use was casual and nobody was getting busted. Gas prices were high as they are know. I remember seeing that Rolling Stones eight track tape in my sister’s boyfriend’s hot rod car. I remember the posters of Zep, Alice Cooper, and the lava lamps. Hendrix stood on a wall all to his own attesting to highs gone too far. Then me and the Bentons down the street decided to get into some trouble. The Bentons were the bad asses, the bullys, the thugs if you will. The three Brothers were in their early teens, and I was there prey. They wanted to cajole me into their antics, and if I didn’t they would beat the shit out of me! As much as I tried to avoid them on the playground, they were always there. In the next couple of paragraphs I will allude to our antics in a few minutes okay? Then there was the project Gallman Heights gang. They were African Americans who used to beat me like white devil slave masters. I remember three of them taking a huge limb, swinging back like George Brett (Kansas City Royals 3rd baseman), and nailing me in the back. I saw stars, and think was passed out for a while. When I came to, they were gone, but left there trusting pine limb as a reminder not to mess with them. But you could not get me off the playground. I remember fighting three of them at one time like a corned animal on the Discovery Channel. One tried to rip my gums out while on top of me. I rolled over, grabbed a nearby stick and hit him in the ribs with all of my seven year old might. He ran off and told his other two hench kids. Then they came over chasing me, so I saw a point were there was a rim from tire. I hurled it at one nailing him in the right anterior thigh. Then I took on the one with the karate skills and laughed while he tried in vain to hurt me with his gentle kicks. I nailed him with a right haymaker and poof gone!
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