First Love

                                                                            

I have the feeling this one of Dad's stories might already have made it to one of my earlier blogs Legacy of a Courtly Curmudgeon or DjinnfromtheBronxTwo. But it's worth a run on the current blog, I think. Dad went through a phase in his writing; everything in the present tense a la Damon Runyon.


When I am twelve years old, I attend a Greek parochial school.  One day, the principal invites a guy named Jim Londos to the school.  Jim is the new wold wrestling champeen and the most famous an in the Greek community.

We do not have an auditorium in our very small school, but Mr. Londos comes to each of our classes in turn.

He is no bigger than me, me only twelve years old, but he is sure wider.  He looks powerful enough. He is.  In fact he lifts his almost three hundred pound opponent off the ground, spins him around and hurls him to the canvas.  The opponent does not arise.  As Miss Kouri, our mythology teacher explains, he is not like a guy called Antaeus, who grows stronger each time he is thrown to the ground.  In this ancient fight, Hercules had to hold Antaeus up in the air to strangle him.  The guys wonder what Jim Londos will do if his three-hundred pound enemy gets up off the mat. Opinions are divided.  Half believe strangling would be o.k.

Naturally, all the guys become wrestlers.  There are a couple of sprains and bruises and a few broken bones.  The principal gets a lot of extra attention from the parents, especially the mothers.

I do not indulge in this sport, as I have great concern over getting hurt.  In fact I will never get into a match if this classmate, named Achilles, does not challenge me in front of Winnie.

Now, Winnie is not just any girl.  All the guys fall over each other, jump off cliffs, do battle with each other just for one of her glances.  In fact it is only because she comes into the classroom in the first place that my classmate, Achilles, challenges me to a match.  I cannot refuse for there is Winnie.

I have no hope at all.  Miss Kouri relates how the first Achilles gets dipped into the magic river, Styx, while his mother holds him by the heel, so he can't be killed, unless he is wounded in the spot covered by his mother's hand.

Of course, we hear that some guy named Paris shoots him in the heel with an arrow so Achilles dies.

This modern Achilles looks as strong as if he was the original.  I do not have an arrow.

Right away, he gets a scissors hold on me, which means he wraps his stubby legs around my waist and squeezes I think I am going to die.

"Leave the kid alone," says Winnie.

Now I know I am going to die.  If Achilles does not kill me, shame will.  It bugs me, first of all, that she refers to me as "kid". He is no older than me, only bigger--and dumber.  Worse, I realize that the buttons on my fly are undone.

I hope he kills me before she notices, but I make one last try. I lift him still attached to me by his legs, whirl him in a small arc, and his head hits the iron support of a nearby desk.

He falls like an ox hit by a mallet.

Achilles gets three stitches in his head. I get five good whacks from the principal with a wicker rod.

Winnie smiles at me. 

I am in love for all time.