April's Real Blog

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Mike Defended His Torment-Territory

Mike has a not-quite-heartwarming story 2 share w/U all:
April,

Formerly little sis. Every once in awhile there comes a time when a man has to stand up for his own. A time when right is right and wrong is wrong. A time when a man has to have really good hair.

I lot of times when I remember back to 1980, I remember myself with a fairly significant receding hairline for a kid who’s just 6-years-old. But today when I was reminiscing, I thought back to a time when Lawrence Poirier, my best friend next door, and I nearly came to blows, all because he crossed the line. He delved into territory he shouldn’t have even thought about.

Yes, April. When Lawrence was 6-years-old, he hit our sister Lizzie. I was furious. I grabbed him by the collar so that the back of his collar was tight against the back of his neck (and he went googly-eyed and his tongue stuck out as if I were choking him, so I must have really gotten this shirt-pulling thing wrong), and I said, “Don’t you ever hit Lizzie again, Lawrence!”

When Lawrence was flustered, I remember he used to do these great contortionist tricks to distract his opponent. He would pull his shoulders out of their sockets and bend his left arm around backwards. Then he said, “Honest, Mike…it wasn’t hard…I just er…sort of pushed…” That technique usually worked but I did my best vulture imitation taught me by the master, and those contortions had no effect on me.

Well, then Lawrence did one of my favourite contortions where he puts his hands together and makes it look like he has 8 fingers instead of the normal 10. And he did the thing with his eyes, where he made one look like it was going to cry and the other one look like Quasimodo. Then I looked down and realized Lawrence was wearing a dress and not pants. I am not so heartless, formerly little sis, that these contortions and this public transvestitism did not touch me. But I still had to have a show of strength, so I waved my fist in the air and said the classic Patterson threat, “Well, just you watch it. Or else.”

Lawrence did one more contortion with his right arm as I walked away thinking, “Nobody picks on my baby sister…---But me.” Those are words to live by, formerly little sis. Words to live by. I was feeling pretty good about myself, and then I realized I didn’t have the receding hair line any more. It was almost as if someone had decided to redraw my face into one more suitable for the memory.

So, formerly little sis, that’s the story about how I stood up for my right to be the only person allowed to pick on my baby sister.

Love,
Michael Patterson
Hey, Mike, do U still have that policy abt being the only one who's allowed 2 pick on Liz? Cuz if U R, U mite hafta spend sum time following her from one place 2 another and theatening 2 beat peeps up.

Apes

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2 Comments:

  • At 11:26 AM, Blogger DreadedCandiru2 said…

    Yeah. First, he'd have to drive up to Mtig to yell at Paul and Susan, then get all shirty at Howard and then he's gotta chase down Eric and Therese. Worse, he's gotta do that every weekend to make sure it sticks. How's he gonna write "Breaking the Windjammer" that way?

     
  • At 1:15 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…

    April,

    Formerly little sis. Do you remember how I told the story just last Sunday about how my son took his gloves filled with snow by his sister and whirled them around until they were stretched into shapes not unlike carrots? Well, even if you don’t, I am sure that you will not be surprised that when I was thinking about things I had done in 1979, I remembered something I had done which was remarkably similar thing to the thing my son had done last Sunday..

    I had been sitting among a pile of my toys: a Lincoln log cabin, a 6-wheeler truck, a train set, a yo-yo, a bouncy ball, a teddy bear, a purple castle complete with a dead pink guard a naked pink king and other clothed castle characters, a pool ball, a jar of glue, a sequence of plain yellow blocks I had used for a car ramp, a set of marbles, scissors and paper and tape, a Story Time book, an expanding telescope, and one of these things they called record albums I am sure you have never heard of before. While I was sitting there, I noticed I was wearing a pair of ugly green socks, which did not match the colours on my clothes, which were blue pants and a purple-striped shirt. My right foot was bare as I took this sock off my left foot.

    Suddenly I had 2 green socks, instead of just one, and I stared at them with pleasure. I stuffed one of the socks into the other one, with my eyes closed for this solemn moment. It wasn’t a sacred moment however; it was actually sock-ular. Get it?

    As my son did just last Sunday with his gloves, I discovered the added weight of the extra sock, allowed me to whirl the sock in a circle. I remember the emotion of that moment. My sock, which had previously just been something to absorb the sweat and stink off my body, was now a work of art. I danced about the room as I had been taught by the master. My sock-in-a-sock bounced off the floor around my teddy bear, my blocks, and my bouncy ball. I marveled at its circles, its points of striking the floor, and its ability to defy the laws of physics.

    Then once I was done, the magic was gone. I discarded my green socks onto the floor and stuck my hand in my pocket (the standard walking position for most Pattersons). Since they were not there later when I went back for them, I presumed mom had taken care of them. Although I seem to remember mom complaining the socks had sat there so long, they had developed hair over time.

    So, you see, formerly little sis, my children are slowly turning into me. Soon, you won’t need to hear any stories about what they are doing, but simply stories about things I did, and then as a transfer of learning, you can apply it to my children in the modern time. That’s what I call “Two Mike stories for the price of one Mike.”

    Love,
    Michael Patterson

     

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