Читать книгу Called Home: Our Inspiration--Jim Mahon - Joseph A. Byrne - Страница 12

“We are safe this year,” we thought, as the school bus pulled into the school yard for the first day of school. We’re out of Grade One now.

As we descended the stairs of the yellow school bus, we noticed that a group of big guys watched us, bidding glad salutes to their friends, letting the rest of us walk by. But we suspected they had something else in mind. Eventually, we found out what it was.

“We’re going to figure out who is the weakest guy in the school,” they said, picking out four of the smaller Grade One’s as they arrived at school on their first day. I was glad they didn’t try to figure it out last year, because I would’ve been a candidate.

In short order, they had it down to two. The big fight would be at noon tomorrow. There was a buzz in class all day about the big fight, many unable to sleep that night in anticipation of it, everyone showing up for school the next day. Most people, including the girls showed up to watch, standing in a large circle, each locking arms to form a ring for the combatants.

“Whoever says uncle, loses,” someone said, “and you need to win twice to be the winner.”

The two little guys, not much smaller than me, started slugging it out. Their fists flailed, mostly at the air as they pushed and tugged at each other. They tore their clothing. They rose from the ground with grass stained shirts and pants. But no one said uncle. Each boy put a lot of effort into making the other boy say uncle. The other refused steadfastly. Eventually, one of them would say that distasteful word once. The match ended very abruptly, when the teacher came out to inform us that school would be let out early that day. Several Grade Eight students were ready to declare a champ, on the strength of the one student who had said uncle one time, but not two times as had been established as the criteria for championship.

Jim walked over to the potential loser, put his arm around him, like a friendly bear or a giant. “No way,” he said, “he didn’t lose. This guy fought like a tiger. He isn’t the weakest boy at the school. He’s a champion.” The boy looked like he had grown several inches as Jim said it.

That ended the discussion. The ring leaders in Grade Seven and Eight agreed it was a great fight, but someone shouted out, trying to be funny, “It’s a tie. We have two weakest guys this year.”

“No, we don’t,” Jim, himself in Grade Two, replied. “This year, there is no weakest guy.”