Memories (Continued)– Fights with my brothers (and spankings)

- I actually attribute the fights we had to the age we grew up in. In the 50's and 60's boys fought to establish themselves in the pecking order around the neighborhood. We thought it normal to fight occasionally and most of us did not take the fights personally. And what I mean by that is that we could fight and then shake hands and still be friends. We didn't hold grudges for very long and we didn't mean to hurt anyone seriously. Now, my older brother took fighting a bit more seriously than I did. He got mean and rough and could really swing his fists. He was big and strong and 'had an attitude'. In fact, I met a guy at work who knew Ricky in school. I asked him if he knew my brother and he said, “bad ass Mulkey? oh yea, I knew him”. Of course I didn't mind having a brother with a name like that. It probably kept me out of a lot of fights.

But, at home I didn't care how big he was or how much of an attitude he had. He was my brother and we often did not get along. He had a habit of bossing me around and I had a habit of not liking it. Most of the real fights occurred after my mom and dad had left the house (for whatever reason). Ricky would start telling me what to do and my temper would get away from me. We put a very big hole in the hall's sheet rock; broke the legs to my parents bed; I put a pencil in his back and he knocked me out cold. And my parents didn't find out about anything but the bed and hallway.

We loved to wrestle in the living room because it had carpet and sofas and chairs. We could dive off the furniture and slam each other without too much bruising. But, my mom did not like us using the living room for a wrestling ring and would holler at us to go outside. Now, we could not understand the reasoning behind that statement because the yard had rocks in it and rocks hurt, whereas the room did not, so we ignored her. She would then grab the broom and hit us with the handle until she drove us out of the house. And my brother would scream at the top of his lungs so that all the neighborhood could hear him, saying that she was beating us as he ran out the door (my mom had to laugh).

One of my favorite memories was when we were fighting in the hallway. There was a coat rack at the end of the hall that had spindles portruding outward toward us. Ricky had a towel around my throat and was choking me. I knew I was going to black out soon and noticed the coat rack was behind him. I acted like I was trying to pull him to me so he resisted and pulled back. That's when I pushed him as hard as I can and he slammed against the rack. The towel went slack, he moaned and slumped to the floor. I laughed and ran past him and out the back door, snickering all the way.

The time we broke the parent's bed was sorta scary. Ricky was chasing me through the house and I jumped on their bed to get away from him. When he jumped on the bed, he was heavier and the bed leg snapped. The bed hit the floor and we froze in place, knowing we were in horrible trouble. We looked it over and tried to find a way to fix it, without knowing a thing about what we were doing. So, as most level headed and amazingly intelligent young boys would do, we propped it up (precariously), then went to bed and prayed. I can't remember if I was asleep or not when the bed hit the floor, but I remember hearing it and almost sitting straight up in bed. Of course, when they checked my bed I was fast asleep! I honestly think we got away with it.

The worst beating I got from him was when we put on boxing gloves and fought in the living room (no running away). I knew I had to hit quickly and get out of the way of his big hands and that's what I tried to do. Unfortunately, when I went in one time to strike him he caught me on the side of the head and it was enough to make me wobble. Then, he just kept hitting me while I slowly watched the world go black. I was out cold for some amount of time and learned a valuable lesson, do not let the other guy hit you if he can hurt you. I wish it was the only time I had to learn the lesson.

Of course, we didn't always fight, only when we were pushed to it by either him or me. My younger brother didn't join us in the real fights. He was too young and small for us to tangle with. He had health issues as a child and we tended to take care of him rather than fight with him. I did have to take up for him once, but didn't really get into a bad fight over it. We just had a good talk and the other guy agreed that he shouldn't push my brother around. The guy better be glad Ricky didn't take care of the incident instead of me.

But back when we grew up the phrase 'boys will be boys' was accepted and given it's due. We played hard and fought hard, but generally just had a good time. We were also spanked hard back then but endured it with no lasting effects. In fact, it's almost a bragging right when I get together with other people my age. It becomes a spitting contest on who got whipped the hardest and most often. My dad did whip us when we needed it, and sometimes when we didn't think we deserved it, but I'm sure having 3 boys would require a certain amount of firm discipline in order to have a harmonious home. Dad used the 'going round and round' method of belt whipping. He held you by your left hand, whupped you with his right while you ran round and round him trying desperately to avoid getting hit. It seriously hurt and you would instinctively try to block the blows with your free hand which led to it getting bruised too. All in all it left no permanent scars inside or out. Fact is, I probably wasn't spanked enough because I was always in trouble for something.