Saturday, October 31, 2009

The Prime Directive Made Me Do It

Don’t stop just because you hit me”, came the command.
Why not I think to myself.
It was hard enough to ever begin throwing punches at this strikingly beautiful woman, albeit an athlete and a trainer skilled in the pugilistic arts, which made it fairly easy to stop.
Deep in my heart was the paternal command, “never hit a lady because if you do I will destroy you”.
As a little kid I believed he could and would so I didn’t even hit my sister unless I knew my father wouldn’t be around long enough for her to forget.
That primary directive, instilled in childhood, has been a guiding principle of my existence.
So when I began boxing I threw tentative punches.
I was “ridiculed”.
The punches got harder until one day she said, “well, I believe you have overcome your primary directive”.
I was slamming punches into the mitts strategically placed to catch body blows and her head was rocking with each punch.
I reacted by decreasing the intensity of the punches and partially returning to the primary directive.
The medical side of me was also concerned about the blood vessels in her head.
Then recently because of low attendance she decided to have Boxing Night, not to be confused with Boxing Day, the English Holiday,so named because of the boxes of gifts given to one and other.
We received no gifts but were instead exhorted to do a series of punch combinations, over and over.
When a jab I threw slipped the mitt and caught her in the corner of the left eye, I suddenly had an acute attack of the Primary Directive and stopped mid-punch.
That is when she threw a punch at me saying, “don’t stop when you hit me, keep going”.
So in spite of the Prime Directive and the inbred chivalry demanded by my mother, I kept throwing the punches although much more controlled.
I really don’t have to worry about her as much as she needs to worry about me.
I don’t remember the punch sequences all that well and I am always worried about one going awry.
Well we did get through the evening, no blood was drawn, no injuries were encountered except for maybe that little six-year old that resides in the soul of every man.
He went home wondering when his Dad was going to come down and destroy him for breaking the Prime Directive.
He didn’t sleep so well that night.

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