Oh, well, will move on since I can't highlight or delete him.
I was just thinking of how the tiniest thing we do, can affect people for a life time...and my story begins.
My mother's brother was a big man and he begat a son. James was my age and, (I'm sorry, James), he was a wimp. Always trying to out run me, out climb me, out wrestle me...you name it. I was a tomboy so he didn't stand a chance. I didn't know he lived in town or that his father was rarely home or that when he was, he drank and made fun of James. All I saw was a pest.
I was never mean but tried to avoid him like the plague. Always pestering me, always challenging me. How many times do I have to beat you before you decide to give up???
Well, one day I was fed up. The adults were gone or I would have been skinned alive! I called James a girl and proceeded to put one of my dresses on him. He didn't stand a chance...then I took a picture...he cried.
I had won...but the victory was not sweet.
Years later, James tracked me down with his children in tow. He talked about that day, and how it ate at him. He was successful but never grew very big (I could still whip him, if I had wanted) Between his father's abuse and MINE, he was driven to succeed, despite his size.
I kinda feel bad but knowing what I know now, I am afraid I wouldn't have changed a thing.
Forgive me, James has.
