Showdown At the Lone Star

On a warm summer evening around 1962, when I was around seven years old, my Dad took me on the short drive down to the Lone Star Texaco station as he often would.

 The Texaco was a bait & tackle store, a full-service gas station and a food market. In the middle of the store was an old wood stove and several rocking chairs. So, the trip served several purposes, it gave Mom a chance to rest, Dad a chance to talk with his fishing buddies and it gave me a chance to see the baitfish swimming in the tanks.

 And on this particular day, life was not fair. No, it was not that Dad simply did not buy me a toy that I wanted, nor did he deny me a bar of candy. This was much more significant and illustrative of the principle that life should be fair.

 After parking the car, we walked to the front door, me being sure to stomp on the pneumatic hose that rang the service bell with Dad admonishing me to stop. When we entered the store, I immediately headed to the baitfish tanks, my favorite spot to hangout while Dad talked. But a seven-year-old boy can get bored as quickly as he gets interested in something new and so I flitted about the different sections of the store poking the bread or watching one of the employees slicing liverwurst for someone’s sandwich. Anyway, my activity was making Dad a bit uneasy and so he called me over to the circle of chairs where some men were sitting, and others were standing.

When I walked over Mr. Bates remarked to my Dad, “Wow Buddy (my Dad’s nickname), your boy is growing like a weed!” Mr. Bates then directed the conversation at me, “Ricky, you are sure growing fast! You look pretty strong for your age.”

I just stood there and did nothing – I did not even say a word, because Mr. Bates was a very, very large man!

And then Mr. Bates said, “Ricky, I want to see just how strong you are. Hit me in the stomach and let’s see!”

Dad immediately said, “No. No Bates he shouldn’t do that!”

To which Mr. Bates said, “Aw … nonsense Buddy.” And then he squared his body in my direction and said, “Go ahead and hit me in the stomach Ricky.”

I looked up at Dad and his eyes said, “it’s okay boy.”

And so, I reared back my arm, formed a little fist and let my punch fly into Mr. Bate’s big stomach.

Holy cow! What a horrendous mistake!

Mr. Bates yelped out words I did not know and then he collapsed to the wooden floor like a felled tree,  rolling around making a terrible groaning noise.

 I puffed up, somewhat proud, feeling a bit like a cowboy who had just won a showdown. But I thought what would make him act like this.

Yep – I had mistaken his groin as a part of his stomach and being a seven-year-old I was about the right height to punch him right in the nuts.

 My Dad immediately went to help Mr. Bates and at the same time apologizing to him and scolding me. I was very confused. I just did not understand what had happened. I only did what Mr. Bates asked me to do.

 Well, as soon a Mr. Bates was standing up Dad told his friends goodnight and rushed me into the car for the short drive home. During the drive Dad made it clear, “You are going to get the switch for that.”

 Heck, I had never had a whipping before, and I did not even know I should be afraid.

 And into our home we rapidly walked, right past my inquiring Mom, to my bedroom. Once in the bedroom Dad directed me to get into my closet and put on my pajamas while he went out to get a switch.

A few minutes later, he came in with a small branch he broke off of a shrub from the front yard.  And then he grabbed my arm, pulled down my pajama bottoms and he started whacking my behind while I was squirming and jumping in a hopeless effort to avoid another whack on my backside.

 I cried myself to sleep that night not knowing what I did.

 Not fair Dad!

 65 years later, I get it Dad, life’s punches are not always fair, but they sure teach where not to aim!