((…spring of 1977) (or, ‘Shawn’s Ice-cream
cone’))
There was a
chill outside of the second floor apartment window, in the Army Housing area on
Babenhausen Caserne; Shawn’s father was a Sergeant, stationed in West Germany 1977. A
tremor passed over his body. He wanted
to yell quietly, not for himself, but for, or at the boy trying to grab Shawn’s
ice-cream cone out of his hands.
The chilled spring sunlight was weaker
in the morning, it was forenoon, “It’s for my brother,” Shawn told the boy, who
was standing in front of him.
Shawn’s mouth was hot and dry, so with
the cone in his right hand he licked the top of the ice-cream. He was glad for
his mouth. Shawn acted as if Cody his twin brother would be there any minute;
he was five and half years old.
“Give me that other cone,” demanded the
seven year old boy, he told Shawn and that he would hit him if he didn’t, any
time soon.
Then Shawn must had thought a moment, he
had an odd look on his face—while holding those two cones, one in each hand—;
his father thinking, then saying, out loud, in a near whisper, ‘What could be
on his mind.’
“O, I see,” he said, as Shawn lifted up
his right leg and positioned his foot—looking at the boy straight in his
eyes—and with a quick thrust, kicked the
boy in the gut, as he bent over, gasping for air. It had been a straight solid
kick, a karate kick his father had taught him, for such emergencies.
—I
say! The father said out loud
—What?
His wife questioned from the kitchen.
—You
know, Shawn, he can kick pretty well.
—He
can, can he! She questioned, in a statement form; really just an unconscious
response.
Then Shawn looked up at his father
looking down at him from the window—his father was very proud. Cody had
appeared, and the seven year old boy had taken off. There was a big grin on Shawn’s face, as if
he almost felt sorry for the kid, and that—unbelievable kick did it (as the father wondered if Shawn all the time
knew he was watching, and should he not win the battle, he’d come to the
rescue.)
#921 (6-14-2012)
