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Military Family
Military Family
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So Sgt Phil...and I were talking about my brother Mike-and some things he did in Vietnam, and after he retired. But I thought I would share this little story about my childhood with Mike.
Mike was an incredible athlete- for his size. I would compare him to a pint-sized Bo Jackson. He was only five foot three, and 130 pounds. But man oh man, was he fast and powerful. When he boxed Golden Gloves, he knocked people out with body punches. He could have gone to college on a baseball scholarship, and he sprinted like a cheetah. But he was only five foot three.
So when he got into boxing, he used me as ...well, a sparring partner. Although I would have called me: A punching bag. Mike hit...hard. And fast. I could take a punch, but not throw one. By the time I got a jab ready, he was already launching the next uppercut. So I hit the floor...a lot.
So one morning he tells he needs to practice some "combo's." I decline.
"Why?"
"Because you have those over sensitive ears. (For some reason my brother has nerve endings all over his ears...and if you hit him in the ears...it stings. And then he doesn't hold back.) I am going to accidentally hit one of your ears, and you will clobber me!"
"Oh, no. I just have to get my timing and rhythm down. It will be fine. "
"Oh, okay."
So, as usual, we put every blanket from every bed upstairs down on the floor between bunkbeds. So we had a blanket sized boxing ring, with the wall, and bunkbeds as ropes. A nice soft floor for me to land on.
So we start. I accidentally hit an ear."
Splat.
I hit the floor...hard.
I hear Mom yell up from downstairs:
"Mike, that better not be Kevin hitting the floor!"
I roll over and yell out:
"No, Mom. Mike and I were just jumping from the beds."
"Well cut it out, you are going to loosen the plaster in the ceiling."
"Okay, Mom."
Mike smiled. I didn't rat him out.
A few minutes later.
Thud.
"Mike, are you knocking Kevin down?"
We both smile.
"No, Mom. Still just jumping around."
"Well, cut it out. If I hear one more thump I am coming up stairs!"
And that was the equivalent of the final Bell.
We put the blankets back on the beds and Mike says:
"You might want to put some cold water on your face...before it swells up."
Yep. Brothers.
Mike was an incredible athlete- for his size. I would compare him to a pint-sized Bo Jackson. He was only five foot three, and 130 pounds. But man oh man, was he fast and powerful. When he boxed Golden Gloves, he knocked people out with body punches. He could have gone to college on a baseball scholarship, and he sprinted like a cheetah. But he was only five foot three.
So when he got into boxing, he used me as ...well, a sparring partner. Although I would have called me: A punching bag. Mike hit...hard. And fast. I could take a punch, but not throw one. By the time I got a jab ready, he was already launching the next uppercut. So I hit the floor...a lot.
So one morning he tells he needs to practice some "combo's." I decline.
"Why?"
"Because you have those over sensitive ears. (For some reason my brother has nerve endings all over his ears...and if you hit him in the ears...it stings. And then he doesn't hold back.) I am going to accidentally hit one of your ears, and you will clobber me!"
"Oh, no. I just have to get my timing and rhythm down. It will be fine. "
"Oh, okay."
So, as usual, we put every blanket from every bed upstairs down on the floor between bunkbeds. So we had a blanket sized boxing ring, with the wall, and bunkbeds as ropes. A nice soft floor for me to land on.
So we start. I accidentally hit an ear."
Splat.
I hit the floor...hard.
I hear Mom yell up from downstairs:
"Mike, that better not be Kevin hitting the floor!"
I roll over and yell out:
"No, Mom. Mike and I were just jumping from the beds."
"Well cut it out, you are going to loosen the plaster in the ceiling."
"Okay, Mom."
Mike smiled. I didn't rat him out.
A few minutes later.
Thud.
"Mike, are you knocking Kevin down?"
We both smile.
"No, Mom. Still just jumping around."
"Well, cut it out. If I hear one more thump I am coming up stairs!"
And that was the equivalent of the final Bell.
We put the blankets back on the beds and Mike says:
"You might want to put some cold water on your face...before it swells up."
Yep. Brothers.
Family
Military Family
Boxing
Sports
Memories
Edited 12 d ago
Posted 12 d ago
Responses: 3
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I was the new kid in the neighborhood when I was in the summer beforen3rd grade. Being new, I had no friends. There was a kid around the corner across the street who was also alone, not because he was new but because he had had tuberculosis and had just gotten out of the sanitarium. Donnie and I became best of friends. We were playing basketball in his bedroom when his parents were gone. I put up a shot and it hit the light fixture and broke. He told his parents he did it. Another time we were playing football on our knees in the living room. His parents had just put in new carpet. I'm not really sure what happened to irritate him but he cut me with a knife. I told him to put the knife away or I would bleed on the new carpet. He applied direct pressure by sitting on my finger. When I got home, Mom asked me about my wrapped finger and I told her I cut it on a locker at school. Not a sibling, but really close
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SGT Kevin Hughes
Yep...my friend Eddie was as close as any of my brothers... Fighting TB as a child...you were a godsend to that boy. My Mom got in college, and they made her go to Florida and stay completely still for over a year. And to think it is coming back because folks aren't getting their shots. Sheesh.
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Unfortunately didn’t have much time with my brother,he was twelve years older,so when I was twelve he had already done his six year initial enlistment in the AirForce leading to a career of twenty three years,he was a intelligence operator was two degrees from Syracuse and Maryland universities in Russian language,his AOs included Check point Charlie in West Germany,Turkey,and the northern islands of Japan and some the family never heard of for security reasons,sadly he suffered from our family disease,alcoholism ,and died at forty nine,still miss that old fart,from the short times we had together, Be Well all,Phil.
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