Cole and Ashe
A Family Affair by The Hit Man
When is it time to make changes that can affect you for the rest of your life. I don't pretend to know the answer, but I want to share my own experience. Although it is too late for me, maybe it will help you make better choices for yourself.
I was well into my twenty-first year when I figured it was time to make
some changes around the old homested. And it had to begin with my Dad. My
Dad. All 290 pounds of him slapped onto a 5 foot 7 inch frame not made to
carry more than 150 pounds at most. It was Saturday night and I had just completed
an intense workout.
I was doing some flexing in front of the mirror. Yes, it is okay to be impressed with the way I look. After all, I am. All of a sudden, though not totally unexpected, my bedroom door burst open without so much as a warning knock. There stood dear old Dad. Lucky for him I wasn't whacking off or something. Anyway, there he was in all his glory, naked except for his undies, which this week were black, belly stretching the elastic way past the point of no return.
"Are you done admiring yourself, pretty boy," Dad asked? He would probably never admit it, but I heard the envy in his voice. In fact, it practically dripped from his lips. "Not tonight, Dad," I answered, "not in the mood." I turned and flopped on my bed. "Who cares if you ain't in the mood, wus," he said, "it's time for a good old ass whooping." Oh, did I forget to mention it was Saturday night after wrestling on TV?
Getting the picture yet? Yep, my Dad loved to wrestle. Only it wasn't so much like you see on TV or anywhere else for that matter. Mostly, it was just him laying on my bed, my ab's or head being squeezed between the hamhocks he called legs. It really wasn't that he could squeeze so hard. More often I gave up because the fat of his legs closed over my face, cutting off the air. And this is where my original question, to you, the reader, comes in. I decided that tonight was going to be different. I was declaring the end of this wrestling phase. I had made up my mind. All my life I have been active in sports including football, soccer and wrestling. Plus, since finishing high school and through my college years, I have spent a lot of time in the gym working out. If you look at my picture again, you can see that had I wanted to, I truly could have hurt him. But I didn't want to. At least not until that night.
"No, Dad, I don't want to wrestle anymore. Last week was it." It was as if he didn't even hear me. He just stood there with his little buddha body, silent, starring. Suddenly he grabbed for my legs but I simply swung them out of the way. He almost fell down but caught himself at the last moment on the side of the bed. He grabbed again, aiming for an arm this time. I simply rolled over out of his reach. Not used to this sort of beligerance, his face was becoming a combination of anger and confusion. I had never stood up to him before and I could see he was mulling over what to do about it. Had I known what was coming, I might have reconsidered my decision. But as they say hindsight is a wonderful thing. A roar erupted from his throat, filling the room with his rage. He threw his arms out and performed a less than perfect swan dive onto my bed. Of course the intent was to crush me then and there. But when all was said and done, he was now wallowing on the bed and I was standing. Another saying, Turn about's fair play. He rolled around on the bed for a few moment, much like a whale caught on the beach, struggling to reach the side of the bed. He finally hauled himself to his feet. I could tell he wasn't going to give up easily, so I decided to end it for him. I had to stand my ground. He started toward me. "Dad, I don't want to hurt you, but I have simply had enough of this crap." His eyes dropped to my fists which were clenching at my side. "Give it your best shot," he growled, his arms moving in and out, up and down as he contemplated what to do next. I was used to it. It was the same old thing I had experienced since I was eleven. He would grab me in a frontal bear hug and throw me down on the bed. "Okay, but you asked for it," I replied. I doubled up a fist and planted a stiff upper cut into his massive belly. I had never hit him before and am not sure what I expected. At least maybe my fist sinking into his fat up to my elbow and him dropping to his knees gasping for breath like you always see on TV. After all, I was very strong and hadn't pulled my punch at all. But the feel of the landing blow was different. It sure hadn't felt like the muscular ab's of the wrestlers at school who I had traded gut punching with a time or two. No, this was like...it was like...my god, my Dad was made of jello. Or maybe rubber. After penetrating the first couple of inches of obesity, my fist practically bounced back. Okay, just a fluke I thought to myself. A second shot will finish him off. Wham, a second fist hit the slab before me. Same result. Under all that flab there was actually a taut piece of muscle. I looked at his face. He was actually smiling. "Nice try, Shad," he said, "but because of your little rebellion, the rules have changed." That was all. Well, except for that stupid smile that was still on his face. But I intended to wipe that off real fast. After all, what rules was he talking about. Without warning, his beefy fist connected directly with my face, snapping my head back. I didn't have time to think about the power behind it, register the pain, or even know that my nose was bleeding profusely. Why, you ask? Because I was unconsious on my bed, coldcocked by a single blow.
When I came to, everything was in disarray. Somehow my bedroom had taken on the appearance of the garage. Only my bed was gone and I was suspended from the rafters by my arms, my wrists wrapped in leather. I was only able to touch the floor if I stood on the balls of my feet. Even the carpet felt odd, like cold concrete. I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs, return everything back to its normal state. Only it didn't help. Then the incredible bulk stepped in front of me. "Oh good, you're finally awake," Dad said. "I was starting to think our fun might really be over for the evening." "Fun, what fun?" I asked sarcastically, my jaw aching with the movement of my mouth. Wait, why was my face so sore? Then it all came back to me. Dad had hit me. "Why the fun you started," Dad answered as he started to turn away from me. "Remember this?" With those words, he swung back around and ploughed his fist directly into my solar plexus. UGH! I hadn't been prepared and my muscles had taken his blow direct. A second fist hit. Only this time I was ready, my stomach muscles hard against his blow. But by doing that, the blow pushed me backwards off my feet, my arms taking the full weight as I swung back. Coming back into position, he was waiting. Another fist caught me low, in the softer area below my belly button. GASP! Once again my feet left the floor, my shoulder blades already beginning to ache. This time, as I swung back to place, anxious to get the weight off my shoulders, a knee caught me solid and direct in the middle of my ab's. If looks are deceiving, then my Dad had done a good job of hiding his true strength and dexterity for years. Once again, I had been concentrating on the wrong thing and my midsection was unprepared. UMPH! The air was out of me, my mouth looking like a fish out of water. Suddenly a blow caught me from behind, directed right into my kidney. The pain was gorge inducing. I tasted the heat of the bile in my throat. Then, as if to make sure I was hurting as much as possible, he brought his foot up hard between my legs. The blow crushed my testicles against my pelvic bone. Fire rushed upwards within my body and caused my muscles to involuntarily pull upward into the fetal position, only it couldn't. I threw up.
Dad walked back around in front of me, avoiding the puke covering the floor in front of me. "Now look at the mess you've made," he said, as he moved across the room, picking a mop from among the many devices that inhabited the garage. He turned on the water in the garage basin, the same one Mom used to pre-soak our dirty clothes. Dipping the mop into the water, he walked back toward me. As he turned his back toward me, the mop handle, a solid piece of rounded birch, caught me directly in the belly button. It wasn't a hard blow, but the tip of the mop left a red mark where it had hit. Then it hit me higher, just below my left pec, only this time the blow was harder. I looked at my Dad but he still had his back to me. A sharp jab right in the sternum caused me to gasp for air. One lower, just above my groin which was still tender. I guess I had some idea of what was coming next for as the handle headed right for my groin, I swung my legs up, trapping it between my powerful thighs. He tried first to pull it loose, then to push it on through. He jammed the end he held upward, the other end striking the floor. Using his weight, he tried to jam the handle up against my testicles. He rammed a shoulder into my ab's, rocking me backward. Slowly but surely the handle slipped past my leg muscles. Finally it connected with my testicles but the growing pressure didn't stop. He continued to push me farther back, the pain becoming excruciating. Sweat flowed down my face. Suddenly, the mop handle snapped and he was left holding just an inch or two below the mop head itself. He stepped aside and I unwillingly swung forward. Then back. On the way back toward him, he blasted a fist directly into my lower belly. WHOOMPH. As I swung past again, he hit me in the kidney. I was starting to feel a little woozy, a blackness creeping in around the sides of my eyes. Dad walked over to the basin, dipped the mop into it, sour throwup and all. Bringing it back, he thrust the wet stringy end directly into my face. The combination of the smell and wetness brought me back from the verge of unconsciousness. He dropped the mop to the ground, moved in close and delivered a series of heavy blows to my midsection. It was incredulous to me that his short beefy arms had as much power as they did. While my strength seemed to be waning, his only seemed to grow. As my body moved backward, he moved with me until he was finally holding me off the ground with one hand while slugging me with the other. My ab's were like jello now too only there wasn't any solid wall of muscle resisting the blows. I could feel each blow digging in deep. Then he grabbed me with his hand like a claw, the fingers digging deep into my muscles. I wanted to scream but he held me in the air by the throat. He twisted his hand in different directions. Finally he pulled his hand away. My muscles relaxed. That was when he delivered another knee to my midsection. And another. This time the blackness couldn't be stopped. I didn't feel my feet come to rest on the cold pavement.
I don't know how long I was out but I could hear Dad's voice nearby. I glanced over, trying not to let him know I was awake. He was on the cell phone, his face away from me. "Okay, see you soon," he said, shutting off the phone and dropping it on the work bench. He moved behind me, out of my field of vision. I could hear him rummaging around in his tool box. When he reappeared, he was holding a rubber mallet. I couldn't hide my fear of what was next. "Dad, please," I begged, "can't we call it a night?" He smiled at me wickedly. "Remember, you changed the rules, Shad," he said just before the first swing of the mallet caught be directly below my ribs on the right side. "God damn," escaped my lips, a welt instantly rising on my chest. The mallet caught me hard in the mouth. I instantly tasted the copper taste of my own blood. I ran my lips around the inside of my mouth to see if any teeth had been loosened. "Don't cuss," Dad said, "you know your Mom doesn't like that kind of stuff.". The mallet connected directly in the middle of my ab's. Then my left side. Then back around in my lower belly. He continued walking around me in circles delivering blow after blow to my biceps, my thighs, my lower back, even my feet until all my muscles were screaming. In addition to all the blows, my shoulders and arms were on fire having been held upward as they were for a prolonged period of time. He came to a stop in front of me, mallet raised, but apparently in thought about where to strike next. I had to do something. I was afraid he was going to kill me. He moved closer and I made my move, swinging my own powerful legs up, trying to get them high enough to lock on his neck. He saw the move coming and tried to ward it off by raising his arms. Second choice, my legs settled on his ample girth. As I locked my feet behind his back, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I was over six feet tall. Any shorter and I wouldn't have been able to get my legs all the way around for the lock. Desperate, even though it felt like I was pulling my arms out of their sockets, I tightened my grip with all the strength I could muster. He started to pound on my ab's with the mallet. But my midsection was tight and hard as a result of the flexing of my leg muscles. He started to pull against me, increasing the pressure on my shoulders. I could see he was having trouble getting any air. I cranked up my squeeze to the last notch. I knew if he didn't go down soon, I would. He had me pulled almost as far forward as he could, the mallet a useless weapon being waved in the air. His feet hit the spot still wet from my barf. His feet went out from under him and down he went, landing square on his ass. My leglock was broken as he fell, my shoulders almost pulled from their sockets. He sat there for a moment, then started to roll toward one side, intent on getting up. I couldn't let that happen. I swung both my feet at him, hoping to have enough umph behind it to knock him out. Wham, I connected with both feet against his jaw. His eyes glazed a little. He was still trying to get up but couldn't gain his knees, wavering on the floor like a drunk man with too much liquer in him. Then he went down. To my horror, he struck his head hard on the concrete floor of the garage. I waited several seconds but he didn't move. From my advantage, or disadvantage point, I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. My thoughts were running wild. How to get myself down. Would they believe me if I proclaimed self-defense. Suddenly I heard a noise from near the small door that opened into the side of the garage. It burst open. I had never been so happy to see my younger twin brothers, Cole and Ashe, in my life. "Thank God," I whispered. "Am I happy to see you two. Come on and get me down from here."
Cole and Ashe, my saviors. Though we had many tumultuous times between us, there was no one I could have been happier to see. Or so I thought. "What'd you do to Dad," Cole asked? Ashe bent over Dad's inert body, checking for a pulse. The two looked at each other as they often did, some secret message passing between. Although not identical twins, they still seemed to have that ability. "You're lucky," Cole spoke again, not leaving me time to say anything, "he has a strong pulse. He'll be okay." I hated to admit it at the moment, after everything the old man had just put me through, but I was greatly relieved to hear these words come out of my brother's mouth. "Now, let's see about you." "I think there are some tin snips over in the tool box," I offered, wanting to help speed up the process of getting me down anyway I could. Cole and Ashe looked at each other again. Another message passed and I was beginning to think it was one I wouldn't like.
Cole and Ashe were only seventeen, but they had been body building with me almost from the start. They had been the envy of every boy and the desire of every girl in junior high. In high school, they hadn't had time for normal sports like I had. Instead, they had dedicated themselves to body building and participating in contests. I hated to admit it but at their age, both of them were almost as developed as I was, maybe even more so in some areas. But I was bigger all around and had age on them as well. Ashe walked over to the toolbox, rummaging around inside. Cole grabbed Dad under his arms and hefted him up, dragging his still unconscious form across the cool concrete. "Why don't you guy's cut me down and I'll help you haul old fat ass to his bed." At that point another message passed between the two. They both stopped what they were doing and walked over in front of me, standing side by side. I looked at their faces with earnest concern. Without warning, using their outside hands, they each hit me just below my ribs on the exterior edges of my ab's. GAH! Then their inside fists ploughed directly against the interior edge of my ab's. Setting a rythm, the blows continued, alternating from my outside muscles to the interior ones. Each blow landed a little higher than the previous and then back down again until they had covered the entire area of my washboard stomach. I was struggling for air and crying. It was as if my muscles didn't have any strength left to even draw in a breath. "Stop, please," I gasped. Much to my surprise, they did. "All you had to do was ask," they said in unison. I started laughing and coughing, giddy with the thought that asking was all I had needed to do. Ashe returned to his rummaging through the toolbox. Cole once again grabbed Dad under the arms and hauled him out of the garage. And I still hung where I was.
"Okay," Cole said, returning to the garage. "Ah, good, you found it," he directed toward Ashe. "Found what," I asked, hoping against hope it was the tin snips. My face must have said it all when Ashe stepped in front of me holding a roll of duct tape. "Don't worry, Shad," Cole said, "We won't hurt you permanently." As if sharing a private joke, they both laughed. "Who shall do it," Cole asked Ashe. I think I preferred it when they passed their secret mental messages. "Do what," I asked, noting the tremor that was in my voice. Ignoring me completely, he addressed Ashe. "You," Cole asked? Ashe shook his head affirmative. "Fine, I'll get the hooks ready." Cole moved off toward where our bikes hung on the garage wall. Ashe moved directly in front of me. His body wasn't quite as developed as Cole's but still, I couldn't help but admire the powerhouse standing there. "Bet you can't do it in less than ten," Cole said from across the garage. "Do what in less than ten," I asked? "Knock you out," Ashe answered. Then the first blow landed, catching me right below the sternum. UGH. Since my ab's were already stiff and sore, I started twisting, kicking out in every direction. Ashe simply took a step backward and I didn't connect with anything except the tremendous pain running down my arms and shoulders. "Hold still," Ashe said, "it'll hurt less." I continued to struggle. At least he hadn't hit me again. Then I noticed a change in the pressure on my arms and I realized Cole had loosened the rope that held me. My feet came in solid contact with the concrete. But after all I had been through, my knees weren't ready to hold me and I started to sink. Arms grabbed me from behind, locking me in full nelson, stopping me from falling or fighting back. Ashe's muscular arm's went back to work, striking me time after time directly below the sternum. His blows were crushing and my ability to draw in oxygen ceased. My body began to relax of its own accord until I simply slumped unconsious in his arms.
As I woke, I was aware that my shoulders and arms were feeling pressure again, only it had changed. It puzzled me that I wasn't simply sore with the pressure gone. No, not gone. Just changed. I opened my eyes. Damn, I thought to myself, still in the garage. Where were Cole and Ashe? What did they have planned now. As if for a second I had shared their secret messaging system, they appeared in the doorway separating the garage from the house. "Oh good," Cole said cheerfully, "we thought you might sleep all day. Guess ol' Ashe's sleep potion was a little more potent than we thought." As if to agree, Ashe struck a pose, flexing his arm muscles. For the first time, I looked around at my present situation. The family bikes had been taken off their hooks and I was splayed spreadeagle across a section of them, each of my wrists and feet taped to a different hook. At least it felt more comfortable than how I had been tied up. At that point, Ashe stepped up, a water bottle with a plastic straw in his hand. He held it forward to my lips. I sucked at it desperately, taking in the liguid as fast as I could. I still had a mouthful I was savoring when Cole stepped up and delivered a solid punch to my sternum. It hurt even more as he had used a knuckle that pounded right up against the bone. The water sprayed out, coating Ashe. Ashe's eyes flashed with anger as he squeegied the water off his face and arms. Looking me right in the eye, he dropped into a fighters stance and began to pummel my ab's. I saw it coming and since I was somewhat rested, I had tightened my ab's just in time. Though his punches hurt, they didn't get past the outer defenses of my muscles. "You know," I managed to squeek out between hits, "that" UGH. "was" UFF. "Cole's" OH GOD. "fault," SHIT. "not mine!" Suddenly Cole stepped up, grabbing Ashe by the shoulder, pulling him away. "Leave some for me, bro." Cole stepped in, resuming where Ashe had left off. Although the two of them were so alike, Cole's hits were much more powerful than Ashe's. Little by little, as the blows landed in one area for a bit and then spreading out, my musculator began to fail me. I was having trouble getting a breath again, sensing that black rim that came into my vision when I was close to unconsiousness. "Please stop," I whispered, unsure that I had even said it, let alone be heard. The blows stopped like magic. Again I heard, "All you had to do was ask."
Ashe stepped up again, one hand behind his back. Grabbing the waist of my levis, he pulled them down, exposing the softer muscle area below my belly button. Without hesitation, he buried the rubber mallet my Dad had used earlier.deep into my gut. This time I did scream. Ashe smiled a wicked smile so like my Dad's. Then he hit the same spot with the mallet again. Five hits in each spot, then moving up a few inches, until he reached my sternum. He stopped. I was only capable of moaning, spittle dripping down from the corners of my mouth. My head started to hang. A fist caught me hard under the chin, snapping my head back hard against the wall. Stars swam across my view. I shook my head, trying to clear the webs that were gathering all too fast. A flood of cold water splashed against my face, cold enough to bring me back to my senses. Cole smiled at me, his more benevolent, which I found even more scary than Ashe's evil one. Cole grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head back. "Are you having fun yet, Shad," he asked? Now anger crept into my eyes. I spit in his face. He didn't even bother to wipe it off before the barrage of blows started again. Because of how I was strapped, my thigh muscles were in a constant state of flex. He moved to one of them. ARGH. The blow went deep into the muscle. The next blow hit the side of my thigh but was no more less effective. This went on for at least five minutes, my leg muscles cramping and burning. He stopped. Ashe stepped in and delivered a foot directly to my groin. I tried to pull into myself, attempting to protect my vitals, but the tape held me firm. Ashe stepped up and hit me right in the bicep. "Ooh, that's going to bruise," Cole said. Then he delivered a similar blow to the other bicep. With hands strong enough to tear phone books in half, each brother dug their fingers into a bicep, squeezing and separating the muscle at the same time. My body started to convulse from the pain. Their grip let go and again as one, they delivered fists to my abdomen. Had there been anything still in my stomach, it would have come up then. Cole delivered a right hook to my jaw, sending the left side of my face directly on a collision course with the wall. As the two met, consciousness left me again.
I had lost all track of time since starting this whole scenario with my Dad. All I knew was that everytime I became conscious, Cole and Ashe were there to greet me. My body ached everywhere, even in places they hadn't thought about hitting. Yet. "Water," I hissed. As before, Ashe brought me a bottle of water with a straw. As he held it forward, I leaned my head out, trying reach the straw. Ashe grabbed me in a reverse headlock, pulling me forward and down. The tape holding my hands started to stretch. But it didn't give. While he held me in this perverse position, alternating choking me and then letting me breath, Cole came over and kicked me in the midsection. "Hey, Ashe," he said, "the German highstep." With that he began doing a goose step, smashing my ab's with each step. I knew that even my highly conditioned body couldn't take much more. Cole stopped his goose step. Ashe released his choke hold and stepped back. He grabbed me by the hair, twisted my head back, and smashed his forearm upward into my jaw, jarring my teeth. His grip on my hair kept my head from whipping back against the wall. He then took a position a little to the right of me. He instantly began to punish my ab's again with knee blows. My midsection was so weak, it felt like each blow touched the wall behind me. I thought to myself, what was it they told me all I needed to say. The words wouldn't come. Cole joined Ashe on the other side of my body and they began alternating smashing their knees into my midsection. Suddenly the blows stopped. I couldn't remember saying anything but I must have. Why else would they stop. Then I heard it too. Someone was ringing the front doorbell. "Help," I grunted out hoarsely. Cole looked at me, then shoved his foot right into my groin, twisting it hard against the wall. I must have screamed. What else could I do. Ashe appeared with the roll of duct tape. Cole pulled my head forward and Ashe looped it several times around my head, leaving me just enough room to breath. Then they went together to answer the door.
I could hear voices in the hallway. Thank God, it was cousin Ernst, a German from my Mom's side of the family. Help was here. If anyone could rescue me, it was him. I began to twist against my bonds. I even tried using the trick I had learned about licking the lips to loosen the tape but they had wrapped it several times so this didn't help. The voices were approaching the open door leading to the garage. If I had been any kind of a role model for Cole and Ashe to develop themselves the way they had, then Ernst' had been mine. I sometimes thought that modern pictures of Adonis had been copied from Ernst. He would see what was happening and rescue me, taking Cole and Ashe out quickly and efficiently. But I needed to try and warn him. Then he was in the doorway, Cole leading the way and Ashe behind him. He descended the two steps into the garage, stopping dead in his tracks seeing me tied and tethered. "My God," he said, "what have you two been up to?" In my delirious condition, that was all the further he got before Cole delivered a perfect roundhouse kick to his midsection, driving him back into Ashe who locked him in an unbreakable choke hold. But that wasn't what was happening at all for both Cole and Ashe instead were hanging their heads. Ernst started forward. "Get me the box blade," he said to no one in particular. Ashe walked to the workbench and I could hear him moving the tools around as he searched. Ernst grabbed my jaw in his powerful grip and lifted my head up until our gaze met eye to eye. I have to tell you, I was crying, I was so overjoyed to see him.
"Okay, you two," Ernst directed to Cole and Ashe, "one of you on each side." He let go of my chin and try as I might, I couldn't keep my head erect. Rather it sank back to my chest. He cut my feet free first and put each on the cool concrete. As he cut my wrist bonds, Cole and Ashe each leaned in, close, each letting one of my arms rest on their muscular shoulder, one of each of their strong arms holding me around the waist. We started across the garage floor when Ernst stepped in front of us, stopping our progression. I hoped he would wait for me to get to my bed before laying into Cole and Ashe for their behavior. All I wanted was to lay down.
"You two sure messed this up for me," he said. "When your Dad called and told me to come over for an abfest with ol' cuz Shad here, well, you can imagine my delight." "Wait," I said, "you knew this was happening?" "Sure," Ernst replied, "like I said, your ol' man called me." I was incredulous. Ernst was who Dad had been on the phone with. And the fact that Cole and Ashe had stumbled on me, I guess some would call it fate. "I can't begin to tell you how long I have wanted to go one on one with your ab's cuz," Ernst said. "But guess this will have to do for now." Without warning, he stepped in and delivered a blow to my solar plexus, a blow so hard it literally lifted me off my feet. WHOOSH. As his fist withdrew from my destroyed midsection, all of my air followed it. I went slack in the grip of Cole and Ashe.
I knew I was awake but my body was so stiff and sore, I wasn't sure I wasn't in hell. My muscles had never felt like this before, even with all the power workouts I had done over the years. Where was I? Glancing around, I realized I was in my own bed. Had all of this been a dream? Couldn't possibly have been or I wouldn't feel like I did physically. I turned my head toward the window to see if I could determine what time of day it was. There was no light around the curtains so I surmised it was night time. How many hours had Dad, Cole and Ashe been beating on me. It felt more like a matter of days rather than hours.
The door burst open without warning. There stood my Dad, still in all his
glory, except he also had a large bandage on his forehead.. "Are you
okay," I asked, hoping my concern conveyed in my voice? He sat down on
the bed beside me. "My head is pretty hard," he answered, rubbing
the bandage on his forehead. The real question is, Shad," he continued,
"have you learned your lesson?" My eyes must have conveyed my confusion.
"Oh, come on, son. Are we going to be able to resume our wrestling sessions?
Or do you prefer the new type session you have going with Cole and Ashe, and
maybe even Ernst?" He didn't say anything else and I knew he was waiting
to see what I would say. Swallowing my pride, I said, "Dad, would it
be okay if we resumed our wrestling sessions?" He smiled at me. "All
you had to do was ask," he said right before bringing his elbow down
as hard as he could into my ab's. UUUFFF.