Ten Feet Tall and Bulletproof

As I have said in at least one other post, I was a hyper child. I was all legs and arms and mouth. I was also the baby of four brothers with my oldest brother being as much as twelve years older than I. This particular situation was potent with opportunity for a continual flow of stress and strife between us siblings.

Being the momma's boy, oral retentive, late-life child, baby of the family that I was, I had a lot of buttons. Shucks, I was covered with buttons! Of course, my brothers knew how to push those buttons.

Sure, I shouldn't have been so temperamental or so tender, but, after all, I was young and the youngest. The odds were, shall we say, stacked against me in that regard.
 

I was a tough enough little barefoot boy, but was not above crying over, sometimes, the littlest of things. If I got a bad splinter or if I couldn't find my shirt, I might cry. If I knew I was about to get a whipping, I'd always turn on the faucets and, no, I can't recall it ever saving me from any well deserved spanking.
 

Being the baby, it was easy for my brothers to behave as big brothers often do and harass me and generally give me a hard time. Being the baby, it was easy enough for me to harass my brothers and generally give them a hard time. Yes, I often gave as good as I got, but being the weaker of the four, I had to be more creative than they to return kind for kind.
 

Aggravation was, admittedly, a two-way street with us boys. We were often forced to share a small room and, normally, two per bed. Rod, being the oldest, would get any small room that could act as or could actually be a bedroom for him. Looking back, that only made sense. He even converted a side room attached to the garage in Niota into his own bedroom before he left for the Army.

We would get under one another's skin, sure, but, my brothers knowing how easily I could be stirred up, would often do so just for kicks. (Oh, yeah, they thought that was funny.) They would sometimes say things or do things or even no more than just make faces at me to aggravate me. With my personality and disposition, most anything would get me going if the pressure was applied properly. I suppose there are advantages to being older and more experienced in the art of aggravation. Sometimes, I would give as good as I got, but I was always at a disadvantage simply because of my...inexperience.

I would sometimes pull the “nuclear option” which involved running to mom or dad and crying that Rod, Joe or Greg were “picking on me.” This would sometimes result in a disinterested, “You boys knock it off,” or, “Stop acting like idiots.” Mom and dad were busy, tired and frustrated from having to herd four crazy boys every day. There was always a chance with dad, though, that the “nuclear option” might result in dad going nuclear and he would then just begin beating the nearest child,  working his way up the food chain. If I went to mom, she just might call dad in which meant a beating anyway. All of this would only get the other boys mad about my “causing trouble” and they would then have to switch gears, becoming more subtle, quiet and stealthy in their attacks.
 

It came to pass that once when my brothers were harassing me, or even I might've been doing so to them, they, at least, had the upper hand. They were doing and saying whatever was required at that moment to get me into a slobbery mess of angry tears. I was no doubt threatening great bodily harm on them; a threat that I could not possibly deliver on. They were laughing shamelessly, having an uproarious time watching me break into furious hysterics.
 

I don't recall exactly how it came about, but dad walked in, calling a halt to the entire process. He then summoned the four of us into the dining room, where he sat down at the table and lined the four lunatic inmates up before him.
 

Next, came the fun part. Surprisingly to all of us, he called me to him, picked me up, sat me on his knee and took a hard look at my elder brothers. While holding me there with one hand, he stretched out his other, pointed the finger of that large hand in the face of each of my brothers and said those glorious words I'll never forget: “This is my baby! You mess with my baby; you mess with me.”

He followed that with words of warning and sage advice, strongly admonishing us boys to try, to at least try, to get along with one another. Wise words, for sure, but they fell on deaf ears. There was at least a temporary armistice, but the war would continue before a day or two would pass.

I can't know exactly what happened to cause dad to act that way that day. Being a father myself now, I can only imagine, but can probably guess correctly.
 

He must've seen how vexed I was and that my brothers were definitely getting the better of me at that point. Who knows? Maybe they were way out of line at that point. Maybe they really were actually picking on me. Sheesh! It did happen on occasion.
 

My best guess would be that, to put it rightly, his heart went out to me. After all, I was his baby. He likely saw how small I was and how frustrated I was and the anger in my voice and the tears that were coming out of my eyes and he just couldn't help but pity me. He loved me! He saw the older ones laughing and he, being the fair-minded man he was, just got full up with their actions. More so, I believe, he saw his baby boy distressed beyond his words and it was all the man could take, so he came to my rescue.

Two things I'll never forget: the look on my brothers' faces and my feelings sitting in dad's lap.

You could smell the fear. They knew Floyd Davis was not a man to be toyed with and when he gave you that look square in the eye, you'd sure better listen!

Now, to my feelings sitting there with my father. Have you seen the Narnia movie where Lucy faces down the enemy army at the bridge with, seemingly, nothing more than a knife? In a moment, you see the reason for her bravery as Aslan is revealed stepping up to her side. Yes, she was ten feet tall and bulletproof! She was invincible because she knew who was standing beside her. The big lion was on and at her side!

That's how I felt! I was ten feet tall and bulletproof! I remember feeling like, “Yeah, yeah! Mess with me, will ya?” I felt secure; I even felt cocky. I knew no harm could come to me because I was sitting in the lap of the big lion.

 

Yeah! Don't mess with the baby!