In my attempts to describe some of my siblings in these tales, I've had the most difficulty s'plainin' brother Barge (called "Todd"). Mainly, because he's a mite hard to get a grip on, for some folks. Basically, he is, today, just the same as he was way back yonder, when we was growing up together.

The difficulty I have, with my inadequate grasp of words, is to describe the way Todd thinks. He took a right good holt on what our parents tried to teach us, and listened hard to what they were trying to get all of us to understand. Todd can sum it up in a few words, it hardly needs half a breath: "Right's right, and it ain't gon' wrong nobody:...and, "What goes over the back, buckles under the belly."

In modern language, I rek'n that'd mean: Do what's right because it's the right thing to do; not just because it might be 'politically correct'; and: Treat others as you'd like to be treated, because what goes around, comes around. If that sounds "Golden Rule"-ish, then so be it.

That's the way we were raised, and hardly a day went by that we didn't hear those very words from our parents. The thing of it is, though; Todd listened (unlike some of the rest of us.) Further than that, Todd has acted according to their teachings all his life. I guess that's a big part of the reason Todd became a Minister many years ago and, I'm proud to say, he still is.

With that little bit of background knowledge about Todd, how he was raised, and the way he thought, the following might provide the reader with a little better understanding of the one we lovingly call the 'big-'un.'

In grade school at Taylor, the Phys-Ed. Instructor also taught several other subjects in the classroom, as well as coaching track and field and basketball. One of the coach's programs involved boxing lessons, for boys in the same age group. It didn't seem to matter if there was a substantial difference in the size or weight of the participants, as long as they were about the same age.

When he was about thirteen year old, Todd was already sizin' up considerable; almost six feet tall, and weighing about a hundred and sixty-five pounds. Unbeknownst to most people outside the family, although Todd was certainly big enough to be mean, he was big-hearted enough to be kind. He was then, and is now, the kindest and gentlest man I ever met.

He was also pretty good about watching out for me and Baucum (the "Baby") at school; making sure that we didn't get pushed around too awful much by the bigger boys. He also wouldn't stand for anybody lookin' cross-ways at our sister Belvern (called "Jack"), either; even though she was a couple of years Todd's senior.

Todd's usual action, if we were leaned on by a schoolyard bully, was to just step in 'ere 'tween us and the source of trouble, grit his teeth, frown, and shake his head at the bully; who wisely backed off. That look on Todd's face was a very effective remedy.

On the day his age group was being paired off for their boxing lesson, Todd got the coach over to the side and said (words to the effect that) 'he'd jest as soon not box none, 'cause them other boys was all a lot smaller an' somebody might get hurt, and he didn't much want-a do it in the first place anyhow.' However, his argument fell on deaf ears; the coach said everybody had to box.

The boy they had picked out to be Todd's opponent had already been laced into his boxing gloves, and was dancing around on his toes, punching the air, and saying "Pow"---Pow", as he jabbed with them gloves. He acted like he was more than ready to mix it up. The boxing gloves they used, back in them days, were the old-fashioned, sixteen-ounce kind, with real long "cuffs" that reached almost to the elbow.

Some of the senior's were detailed to assist the coach; lacing gloves onto the participants, and taking them off after their one-round bout was finished. Most of the seniors were gre't big ol' boys; some of 'em old enough to vote (and that was when ye' had to be 21). Even so, they had a time trying to get boxing gloves on Todd. He didn't try to fend them off; he just stood there with his arms stiff at his side, fists clenched, and...frowned at them.

Seeing how reluctant Todd was about boxing, the coach went over, took him by the elbow, and walked him a few steps away from the group. The coach spoke quietly, so no one else could hear, and advised Todd that it wasn't important if he boxed well, or even if he boxed at all. It really wasn't about fighting, anyway.

He said that the idea behind the sparring practice was that it would benefit the littler fellers, who needed to understand that physical training was as important to their education as history or geography or spelling. He said the younger boys needed to participate so they could gain a little self-confidence, and feel more sure of themselves in situations that might come up later on in life.

He went on to say that Todd, with his reputation for staying out of trouble, and helping other kids do the same, could set a real fine example for the boys if he boxed, because they all looked up to Todd. Faced with such logic, and the appeal to his gentler nature, Todd was finally persuaded. He stuck his hands out to be gloved.

I was standin' pretty clos't, so I heard what Todd said to the coach: "Wa'al, go 'head an' put 'em thangs on me, then; but I don't aim to hit that feller", referring to his opponent, who was flittin' around on his toes like a hummin' bird. The boy just couldn't wait to tie into Todd. One of the seniors finished lacing up Todd's gloves, and stepped back.

It was obvious that Todd's opponent was no stranger to boxing. His fancy footwork, and the way he positioned his gloves in front of his face, indicated previous boxing experience. He was punchin' the air so fast, I couldn't hardly see his gloves; an' I was sure-nuff scared.

Not scared of him a-hurtin' Todd. Nawwww. What made me "ant-sy" was that he might do something to make Todd mad...and that bothered me some. Although Todd was as gentle as a lamb most all the time, I'd seen him get over on the cantankerous side once't or twice't. It wasn't sump'm you wanted to see all that much of.

The coach got the two of them into position, stepped back, and said: "box". In less time than it takes to tell it, that feller stepped in 'ere and, quick as lightning, hit Todd four times, smack-dab in the face. I mean, that boy was fast! I could hear the licks landing, but they happened so quick, I couldn't hear 'em separate; just a "tattoo" kind of sound. The boy waltzed backwards on his toes a step or two, and that's when I seen that Todd was bleedin.'

Oh my dear Aunt Epsy! Todd hadn't even moved yet. He was just standin' 'ere, with his hands down by his side. Them big ol' boxing gloves looked like feather pillows stropped to his hands. A trickle of blood run from Todd's nose, down acros't his mouth, and dripped off his chin.

The other boxer was still toe-dancin', and punchin' the air about two inches from Todd's face; it was real plain to me that he didn't have n'air idy what was fixin' to happen. Man alive, did I ever wish Papa'd been 'ere right then, to step in 'tween them two boys...facin' Todd, that is. I wanted Papa to grit his teeth and shake his head at Todd...'cause otherwise, that foolish boy was gon' be doin' some serious hurtin', if somebody didn't do sump'm pretty quick.

Todd licked his tongue across his lip. When he tasted his own blood, a weird sort of look come acros't his face. It was almost like he needed to think about it for a second, before it dawned on him that the boy had aimed to make him bleed.

Todd bent his right arm at the elbow, and lifted that one-pound boxin' glove up 'til it was horizontal with the ground. He looked down at it like it was something from outer space. He turned the glove palm-side up'ards, opened his fist as wide as it'd go, and then...

(I don't b'lieve Todd was even born yet, the time Papa did the schottische with a circus-trained rasslin' bear; but as it turned out, he done the same thang Papa had done to the bear's owner.)

...Todd swung that ham-sized, open-palmed, boxing glove around behind his back and up over his shoulder and WHOPPED it down on top of that boy's head! After the lick landed, the boy acted more like a anvil than a hummin'-bird...'cause he laid down, right peart-like, on the hard ground.

The coach said: "Awright, boys; boxin' lessons is over."

(Todd has had boxin' gloves on his hands twice't in his whole life. Both times was there in the schoolyard at Taylor. (First time, and last time...that makes twice't, the way I cipher it out.)