Today is the kind of day that makes me remember my first fight.

I walked into the house and I was probably in 2nd or third grade and Dad could look at me and tell something was wrong. He sat down and called me over to him. This was very unusual for Dad to do. I was the oldest and at this season Dad's lap was preserved for babies. I was certainly no baby. I was, however bruised up. I wasn't sure if he could see the bruises or the tears in my eyes.
He sat me on his lap and looked me right in my eyes. What happened today? He said in a very loving and condescending tone of voice, also very unusual for our relationship. I said, I don't want to tell you. He said why. I said I had a fight in school. Roosevelt Smith knocked my books off of my desk and I fought with him after school. I was crying hysterically by this time. He said, why wouldn't you tell me that, giggling alot. Did you lose the fight? I said no, I beat him to a pulp. He said why are you crying then, laughing hysterically. I didn't have any idea he was laughing from pride. Mommy said, you stop laughing at that Tony, you should never encourage that kind of behavior, Jayne go upstairs and say 10 "Hail Mary's". Dad was doubled over laughing at my fighting.
I do remember the boxing gloves and the rounds of fights in the living room. We had a great time beating eachother like hoolagans and wrestling. Mom, never approved but she probably laughed about the fight under her breath. Now that I think about it.