https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-black-eye...counts-wsj

I love the quote that I bolded in the article.

Quote:A Black Eye From My Brother, a Lesson Learned

My younger brother, Jack, lives down the street from where we grew up, and he believes he’s the only man in America who has both egged and toilet-papered the house he now owns.

Because he lives in our childhood neighborhood, my brother is friends with many people I, who moved away, knew only as adolescents. In my mind a few of them are fossilized in their teenage awfulness. Jack recently told me he’d had a beer with one of them.

“Why are you hanging out with him?” I interrupted. “That guy was bad news.”

There was a lot of wisdom in what my brother said next: “No, he wasn’t a bad guy. He was always just one punch away from being a good guy.” I thought about it in the context of my own relationship with Jack, and realized he was right. I’m not sure I’m a good guy, but I became a better one after Jack took a swing at me.

It was a colder-than-normal October 1984 afternoon. I was 13; Jack was 11. We’d been playing football with friends in our backyard, and I noticed a garden hose on the ground near where I’d tackled my brother.

I quietly turned on the spigot before returning to the defensive huddle. If I could manage to tackle Jack near the hose again, I’d be well-positioned to administer what was then known as a “backyard gusher.”

A few plays later, I did it. Jack knew something was up the moment he hit the damp ground. He sprang to his feet and saw me, hose in hand. Knowing the bracing plans I had for his trousers, Jack warned, “If you put that hose anywhere near me, I’ll punch you in the face.” I figured he was bluffing, for we were made of the same stuff, and I’d never punched anyone in the face. I pressed on with my watery assault.

That was a mistake. Jack created daylight between us, cocked his fist and drilled me, dotting my left eye with a shiner. I wobbled about, like Sylvester the Cat on the business end of Tweety Bird’s frying pan.

Jack would never receive a backyard gusher from me. I’d crossed a line and paid a price for it. It’s the last time I recall doing something so awful, to him or anyone else.

But here’s the thing about that old acquaintance, the one I called bad news. I don’t recall him ever doing something as ghastly as a backyard gusher to anyone. Thinking back to childhood, I could see the speck in my acquaintance’s eye but not the beam in my own.

I wouldn’t want that afternoon defining me: I’d want a second chance. That’s what my brother gives each imperfect soul he meets—which is to say, everyone.

He didn’t punch me out of love, but he did love me enough to punch me and set me straight. It’s strange—maybe it’s a brother thing—but I’m glad he did. I’ll tell him the next time our families play football together. Touch football.

I have a brother that is 4 years older than me. Growing up, we shared a bedroom. We fought all the time. Usually not trying to really cause damage, but sometimes we would get after it. When I was with kids my age, I was never worried about mixing it up with an of them because I was so accustomed to fighting my brother, fighting kids my age seemed easy.

What's a backyard gusher. You lost me on that one.

(04-02-2019 06:16 PM)olliebaba Wrote:  What's a backyard gusher. You lost me on that one.

It’s when you’re masturbating behind the house and it’s ready to blow. Thought that was common knowledge.

(04-02-2019 07:05 PM)miko33 Wrote:  

(04-02-2019 06:16 PM)olliebaba Wrote:  What's a backyard gusher. You lost me on that one.

It’s when you’re masturbating behind the house and it’s ready to blow. Thought that was common knowledge.

uh, never heard of that. I thought it's when someone puts a hose down your pants...

I had to clock my older brother upside the head with a bakolite phone receiver, if you're my age you know the kind, the real heavy plastic that you couldn't break with dynamite. I warned him and he didn't listen, he kept coming so PIYOW! right upside the temple. When he came to he called me a wuss for using the receiver. I explained to him that since he was 6 years older and 100 pounds heavier that I'd just found my testicles and that in the future I'd be using whatever was handy. He never touched me after that.

However, I have him and a whole busload of cousins to thank for being able to very ably defend myself.