I was swiveling in my desk chair, my eyes closed, thinking many thoughts.
Danny poked me and made writing motions.
I only write when I have the urge.
At this moment I don’t.
With the thoughts racing through my brain, perhaps I should.
For no reason, I was thinking about the parade I saw of lines of soldiers marching home from the war.
I was four years old and small for my age.
Some kind and aware viewer pushed me through the crowd and placed me in front of the line of viewers.
I witnessed a rite I have never forgotten.
Lines of wheelchair after wheelchair with legless men being pushed before me, the blaring martial music was at a defining level.
I never saw the end of the parade.
After hours of watching, this four year old was tired.
Silently, I left the cheering crowd and went to bed.
I saw sights I have never forgotten.
I have never been in a war.
In my pre-teens I was in many fights.
I almost killed a guy. At that time it would not have bothered me. I was defending myself.
I am not a passive person. When someone hits me, I hit back.
Only once, to my regret, did I start a fight.
Through the years I have berated myself.
What I did was wrong. I am no angel.
Later in life I became friends with some of the guys I fought with.
Though I was small, I was a good fighter.
A boxing ring professional once asked me to join his ring of fighters.
Don’t mess with me.
Though I have dentures, I can still bite.
(January 1, 2021)