I was talking to a friend tonight, and somehow or another she mentioned the fact that when she was 5, some douche toddler stole her big wheel. In retribution, she plucked a board from off of a gate that had a nail in it and whacked the kid on the head, thus sending him to the hospital bleeding, and consequentially incurring the wrath of her mother, who took away her rat for 3 weeks. Despite that, and having been tied to a chair by her oldest brother who was baby sitting her, so that she couldn't go and dig out her other brother who had been buried up to his neck in the sandbox by the aforementioned eldest a-hole until 3 am, she turned out to be a rather sweet girl. Really.
This made me think of the one time in my life that I actually hit somebody in the head with a rock.
I was about 10. Grey and I were looking for some lawns to mow for the summer. Earlier that day, my mother had mentioned to me that my little brother had been attacked on his way home from school by some little no-good neighborhood ruffian. The little rat-bastard had been throwing rocks at my brother.
So as I entered a cul-de-sac on the way to a potential client, I saw the kid. He was about 3 years younger than I was. As I passed him by, I said "Hey. My little brother doesn't like rocks." To which he replied, "Okay." To which I retorted, "Yeah. He really doesn't like rocks." "Okay." I felt as though I had quite sufficiently intimidated him by that little exchange. Really, I think he was probably too stupid to have any clue as to what I was referring.
Upon exiting the house and passing him again, I once more reiterated my brother's disdain for rocks. As I reached the opposite end of the cul-de-sac, I noticed a plethora of small, smooth, decorative stones adorning the corner of a yard. They were about the size of a cue ball. I thought that it would probably be a good idea to lob one of those in his general direction, in order to assure that he really got the message. You know, the one about my brother's hatred of rocks.
So I chose out the smoothest, most roundest stone I could find. I had no fear of actually hitting the poor fool, as I was accounted a rather poor baseball player. I mean, I could scarcely throw a catchable ball to an alert human being with a glove, let alone actually hit someone with a rock from all the way across the cul-de-sac. It would bounce near him, nothing more.
With my considerably pitiful might, I lobbed the stone in a high, arcing toss. As the stone began to descend, I suddenly realized that I had just made a really poor life decision. I watched in horror as the geologic projectile came down directly upon the crown of his head. There was a loud "pop," as sand stone met skull, at which point he immediately crumpled to the ground in a screaming heap.
"Shit," I thought.
I ran over as fast as I could, wondering how soon all of the neighbors would come pouring out of their homes, wondering who had murdered this kid in the head with a rock. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! Are you okay?" Obviously, he was not okay. He just kept screaming. And every now and then amidst the awful screams he would add a "just leave me alone." I was less concerned with his possibly cracked cranium, than I was with his father finding out. So in a frantic attempt to assuage the situation, I did what any good person would do. I offered him a dollar.
"Hey, I'll give you a dollar if you won't tell your dad." To which he screamed that he didn't want my dollar, and to leave him alone. "Seriously, here, take it, a whole dollar. Just don't tell your dad." To which he yelled that he didn't care, and to leave him alone. At which point I decided it was probably time to run away. I pulled the crumpled dollar out of my neon green shorts, and sort of laid it on his quivering, sobbing carcass.
For whatever reason, the kid never ratted me out. I'd like to think it was because I gave him a dollar. But really, it was probably because he was afraid I would murder him in the head with a rock again. I suppose we both learned a valuable lesson that day. He, not to throw rocks at my brother ever again. And me, hitting a kid in the head with a rock was okay, as long as I had a dollar handy.