Friday’s Child – Defending My Self

I’m re-running several of my posts from the defunct Prozac Palace blog. I decided to run them on successive Fridays and then remembered the old poem “Monday’s Child.”
In it, Friday’s Child is full of woe. I’m not filled with woe, or anything of that nature. I simply like the way it matches the subject at hand.

(From Thursday, April 26, 2007)

Kick Back

My sister and I fought 2-3 three times week until I was about 10 years old and commonly over nothing.

She’s four years older and had been the center of attention during those four years. To hear her tell the story I started it. Apparently, back in the crib I wouldn’t let her near me. I’d kicked my legs at her to keep her away.

Later it became a good defense.

When I was about seven or eight I did the same thing. She’d start hitting me for whatever reason came to her mind and then I’d run. She’d be right behind me, hammering on me with her angry red fists and screaming. Getting away from her wasn’t the point; I needed to get on my back so I could use my legs.

My arms may as well have been useless. I might have put them up to guard my face, but mostly they hung by my sides. It came naturally. I never thought about doing this. The defensive move simply happened and it kept the jackhammers away from the softer areas of my body.

We kept it up for several minutes with both of us yelling for mom. When it was over, no matter what had happened, she always whined and stomped to mom, “She hit me!”