Parents' Day at school was a sight. They'd come, the three of them, all over six feet, all more than two hundred pounds, all of them hard as an axe handle. They never said a word. Just sat there in the back of the room, with their arms folded. But they always came. All three.
My father boxed and so did my uncles. They'd pick up extra money boxing at county fairs and smokers. They began to teach me as soon as I could walk. And until I could take care of myself, they took care of me . . . pretty good.
Once when I was ten, I went to the store for milk and coming home, I passed a saloon named The Dry Gulch. Couple of drunks were drinking beer on the sidewalk. They said something, and I gave them a wise guy answer, so they took my milk away and emptied it out. One of them gave me a kick in the butt and told me to get on home.
When I got home, I told my uncle Cash, who was the only one there. One of them was always there. Cash asked me if I was all right. And I said I was. He asked me if I might have been a little mouthy. I said I might have been. Cash grinned.
'I'm amazed to hear that,' Cash said.
'But I didn't say anything real bad.'
'Course you didn't,' Cash said.
'One of them kicked me,' I said.
Cash nodded.
'I'll keep that in mind,' he said. 'And when Patrick and your father come home, we'll straighten things out.'
Chapter 3
When they got home, Cash and I told them about what happened. Patrick and my father and Cash all exchanged a look, and my father nodded.
Patrick said, 'If you saw him again, could you point out the guy who kicked you?'
'Sure,' I said.
'Let's go down and take a look,' my father said.
So all of us, including the dog, went down to The Dry Gulch and walked in.
'Sorry, pal,' the bartender said to my father. 'Can't bring that dog in here.'
My father said to me, 'See any of the people that gave you trouble?'
I nodded.
'Which ones?' my father said.
'You hear me?' the bartender said. 'No dogs.'
There were six guys drinking beer together at a big round table. I pointed out two of them. My father nodded and picked me up and sat me on the bar.
'Which one kicked you?' he said.
'The one in the red plaid shirt,' I said.
My father looked at Patrick.
'You want him?' my father said.
'I do,' Patrick said.
'Yours,' my father said.
'Mister,' the bartender said. 'Maybe you don't hear me. Get that dog out of here . . . and get the damn kid off the bar.'
