The One Finger Salute

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