She accused me of lying to god, I don't think she meant her, more that lying to her was akin to lying to god I think. Truth was I had spit, don't know why I lied. I heard my brother say "boogie rocket" once, but didn't know what it was, figured it had to be better than spitting though, reasoning that I had seen people get in trouble for spitting, and not "boogie rockets," solid logic to me at the time. She didn't buy it, and worked me over with a wooden yardstick.
Sometime around elementary school my brother and I came to the false realizations that we were physically safe when only our mom was there, and that we could pretty much do and say whatever we wanted. Once again solid logic at the time, but as we learned later a very painful hypothesis to try out in the field, as the next hit came from my dad.
He was the holy ghost ninja of belt work. He would come home and crack jokes with us, ask about school, or sports or entertainment, pretending nothing of note transpired. We would hop into bed feeling like they had finally taken a step back and realized what we did wasn't so bad at all, kid stuff. Then in the middle of the night he would burst in like a swat raid of biblical wrath, stifled yelps, flashing lights, leather crackles, and little bodies scurrying for the door on all fours to no avail.
The first hit I delivered was given to a kid in middle school. We shared one or two classes and knew each other a bit. One day after an assembly he pantsed me as the combined classes were walking out of the gymnasium. Luckily this was in my pre-sagging era and the pantsing was only half successful, as in I was able to reach the belt in time to pull the pants and boxers halfway back up my ass. My Joe Boxers did a reverse muffin top that resembled a Victorian poets pantaloons.
I laughed it off and moved on with my life, but about a month later he threw a full can of soda that burst against the wall a few inches away from my head. I turned and looked at him and his friends who were laughing at the clouds. I began walking toward them while slowly zeroing in on the kid who had pantsed me.
When I got close enough I jump kicked him, I don't know why. Luckily the jump kick stunned him and his friends enough to give me time to think of what to do next, so I punched him in the stomach while yelling "Usssahhh!", I punched him there because I heard on TV that punching someone in the head would break your hand. He lunged forward and tackled me, we spent the rest of the time wrestling on the ground. A while later a couple security guards rolled up on golf carts and sat us in the principals office.
The principal said the witnesses state I walked up and jump kicked the kid unprovoked. I didn't know what "unprovoked" meant at the time, I thought it was a compliment for my technically sound jump kick. As in "How did a little kid learn to jump kick that well?" Or, "Who would teach children such a lethal maneuver?" I told her I took four years of karate, she started laughing.
