I’m not sure how old I was when I first saw someone flip the
bird. Most probably it happened on the school bus when I was in elementary
school. Most definitely it was succinctly
explained by my best friend’s older sister.
Though only two years older than us, she was
oh-so-much-more-knowledgeable about everything.
She looked down her nose at us with distaste.
“It means “Go to Hell”” she said and promptly shot us the
gig, followed by the bang of her bedroom door in our faces. Our
response was to create a crudely drawn picture of a hand with the middle finger
extended which we then shoved
triumphantly under her door. We marveled
at our new found ability to communicate such a powerful and scandalous message
without having to utter a word.
And so it was that I found myself in my front yard with
Richard, whose family had moved into the Barbee house across the street. He was also a few years older than me. I
found him an interesting playmate, whether we were playing Monopoly on my grandma’s front porch or
donning formal gowns from my dress up box. Richard was very thin and pale with a rash of
freckles and often found himself the object of much teasing by the older kids. I
was just happy that he didn't seem to mind that I was younger than him.
That afternoon though he started teasing me. Being a round
child left me open for such as that from time to time. Luckily, after first
grade much of the teasing had stopped and only rarely appeared, usually in painful use of the name “Jackie Gleason”.
Which is what Richard chose to call me that momentous afternoon.
My response was to shoot him the bird.
“You don’t even know what that means!” he mocked.
“Yes, I do!” I yelled.
“Prove it!” he said. “Your daddy will beat your hide if you
say it!”
I didn't hold back. For the first time in my life I opened
my mouth and let out the beast out of the cage.
“Go. To. Hell.”
Richard was a quick thinker. I will tell you that. He didn't miss a beat.
“I am going to tell your father what you just said.” With
that he turned and strode out of sight, towards the side door that was hidden
by a large Camellia.
My heart sunk! I was in such trouble. I was going to get a
spanking for sure. I had not gotten one
for a while, and truly only got them when I deserved it. I loved my Daddy so
much! He often made time for me, letting me scramble up into his pickup truck
and go ride with him. My mind darted to my last spanking which I richly
deserved. I remembered afterwards
writing a little note that said: “Do you
forgive me? “ With two boxes. One to
check for Yes and one for No. I didn’t want to go through THAT again. I held my
breath.
Soon Richard reappeared and said “Your Daddy wants you”.
My pent up breath exploded into sobs and I raced inside
already crying “I’m so sorry Daddy! I will never say those bad words again!”
My Dad was caught totally unawares, sitting in his big chair
in the den, catching the evening news after working at the bank and then the
farm. He looked at me askance as I
continue to blurt out my sorrow and beg for forgiveness.
When he made sense of what I was saying, he looked at me,
stood up and said “Don’t go anywhere. I will be right back.”
My heart thumped in my chest. I dreaded the spanking, but
far far worse was the knowledge that my Dad would be so disappointed in me.
That I had willingly and knowingly used words I knew I shouldn’t. Where had he even gone? Had I gotten old enough
that I needed to spanked with a switch? Was he cutting a switch even now?
Finally, he came back into the den. I had about cried myself out and was ready to
accept my fate.
Instead my father amazed me.
He said. “Richard won’t be giving you any more trouble. I’ve
been over to his house and he is not allowed in our yard anymore.”
To say I was relieved is an understatement. My Dad had taken
my side. Rather than seeing my “sin”, he saw the circumstance and loved,
forgave, and protected me.
I never did play with Richard Cox again, though when we
crossed paths, he no longer teased me.
As an adult I understand that because he was the subject of bullying, it
was natural for him to make me a target of the same.
But I learned a bigger lesson that day. About forgiveness
and unconditional love. About being cared for and protected, even if that
protection is a little messy and might offend the neighbors. And that I was
important enough to protect. Even if I was on the round side.
I ran into Richard’s brother not long ago, now a preacher
and in talking with him, this memory resurfaced. Its message is sure and true and easy to extrapolate. If
our earthly fathers forgave and loved us so, imagine how much our heavenly Father
does too…
Though it’s been 7 years, I still miss my dad.
And you know, I never
did get another spanking.
 |
| My family, circa 1968 |
