10 Life Lessons. Number 2.

I loved school. I was bright and inquisitive, and things became easy for me. Don’t get me wrong, our school was known for churning out dunces and half-wits. No kid from our school had ever gone on to pass the eleven-plus or gone to a Grammar School.

The first two years were a breeze. They couldn’t really teach me anything. I could already read and write, and I had a decent grasp of maths. I could add up, take away and divide. All things that Dad had taught me during our times table sessions. Numbers made sense and because they made sense, they seemed easy.

When I was six, my best friend was Reggie Loder. Every infant's school has a Reggie Loder. He’s the one with a trail of snot always hanging from one nostril. He’s the one who has nits more times than any other kid. He’s the one who’s continually scratching. He’s the one who smells a bit “unusual.” And, as my old grandad would say, has so much dirt behind his ears that he could grow potatoes!

If I was Oliver Twist then Reggie was most certainly my Artful Dodger.

If you wanted to find Reggie all you had to do was look up. Reggie was a climber. He’d usually be fifteen feet off the ground swinging from the top of a lamppost or on someone's roof, staring down their chimney pots. He lived at the top of our street in a house that looked like it had once been a shop. There were net curtains at the windows, but they were filthy, as were the windows themselves. Mum told me in no uncertain terms that I should never go in his house. I remember her words clearly. “God knows what you might catch if you ever go in that house!”

Well, I’m a boy and Reggie is my best mate. Of course, I went into his house!

It was dark and damp and smelled like Reggie did. “Unusual.”

We went up the stairs and into the bedroom that he shared with his older brother. We used the two beds like trampolines. Bouncing from one to the other, laughing as we did so, then crashing down onto the beds and laying face down exhausted. I was in the house for no more than twenty minutes, and then we were both back out onto the street, ready to chase another adventure. Obviously, I never told Mum.

But Mum had her suspicions just two days later when dark pink sores started to appear around my lips. She dismissed it at first as just a cold sore, but by the second day, there were more. I had two round my mouth and two up by my nose. She took me to the doctor.

“Impetigo, Mrs Lawrence. That’s what he’s got. Has he been in contact with anyone that has skin sores or any other kind of skin infections?”

She looked at me and the first words that came out of her mouth were, “Have you been in Reggie's house?”

I shook my head. But she knew.

I was given cream to put on, and it all cleared up in a week. I never told her the truth because I was scared she’d stop me from playing with Reggie.

Two weeks later me and Reggie are playing outside my house on the pavement. We argued about something, no idea what it was, but we were both shouting and then Reggie punched me. It caught me on the side of my face by my ear. It didn’t hurt, but I think it was the shock and disappointment of it all that upset me. I turned, cried and ran indoors. It was a Saturday and Dad was sitting in his chair watching the horse racing. Mum was in the kitchen. Mum gave me a cuddle.

Typical Dad, he spoke as if I wasn’t there. Instead he spoke to Mum.

“What’s the matter with him?”

I told Mum what had happened.

“Reggie Loder just punched him for no reason.” She said.

Dad leaned forward in his chair and stared at me.

“Come here.”

I did as I was told.

He held his right hand out in front of his face so that his palm was facing me.

“Make a fist with your left hand and punch my hand as hard as you can.”

I did it.

“Harder.” He said.

I punched it again.

“Harder.”

I did it.

“Now punch it quickly three times.”

I did it.

“Now make a fist with your right hand and punch my hand again. Really hard.”

I did.

“Now do both. Punch my hand three times with your left hand then move your body and punch it with the right hand.”

I did it. Over and over again.

“Good. Now go and find Reggie Loder and punch him in the face.”

He leaned back in his chair and continued watching the racing.

I walked out of the house and into the street. Reggie was across the road walking along the school wall, which was twelve feet high. I called him over. He climbed down and walked towards me. When he was just a few feet away he said. “Yeah?”

And then I punched him. Hard. It landed on his cheek and knocked him back. He cried and ran in the direction of home. I turned around, just in time to see the bedroom curtains move. To this day I’m not sure if it was just a draught or had Dad watched the whole thing?

LIFE LESSON Number 2.  When life punches you in the face. Toughen up and Punch back.