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Small, it's interesting you say your nephew stances right but is a left paw. My oldest boy is right handed in everything, but when he played baseball he batted left, and wore his glove on his right hand and threw with his left. I guess it's whatever they learn and are comfortable with. I helped with kids starting out boxing, but when I was helping out I certainly wasn't an advanced coach or anything, I was just helping kids with the basics.

Yes, I own my own guns. I have two .45s, a 9mm, a .357, a .25 and a couple .22s to plink with. I also have three long guns and an antique .36 caliber black powder rifle. My boys own 2 or three guns apiece. I do shoot for pleasure, but I also take my practice time very seriously. I take professional class time refresher training at least once a year and practice often. I firmly believe if a person isn't going to take gun ownership seriously, they have no business owning or carrying a firearm. 

I used to hunt, and took the boys occasionally. Among the things I taught the kids was that they never shoot and kill anything that they're not going to eat, and never take more than you can eat. Don't waste anything. Hunting isn't for pleasure, it's for putting food on the table. Oh well, time to jump down off my soap box.

I envy you having tried pasties before. I'm definitely going to make that the first thing new that I try to cook.

No, the gym I'm looking at doesn't have any type of boxing set up. It's more of a modern weight training place with treadmills,  not an old, comfortable sparring gym like Sarges in Louisville. Heck, Sarge probably isn't there anymore.

Take care Small.

P.S. Hi Victim. I seen you were reading along. I hope your cutting down on the beer is still going well. Take care too!

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i'm sure the surgeon would allow sparring with small, since he punches like a five year old girl.

I hope you guys do reach your goals. Pax too.  All we can do is fight the good fight, whatever that means at any particular time.  

I'm sorry you have been have not been in good health, Klingsor. I care about your well-being. I like the idea of letter writing. I'm open to that as well. Take care of yourself.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Small, I'm sorry it's taken so long to post back. Life got a little complicated, I've been trying to deal with someone I was very close to a long time ago resurfacing. I guess she thought a year was long enough to wait.

First though, I made pasties! I found a great, classic recipe for Cornish pasties that tin miners carried down into the mines. I gotta admit these were delicious! I don't know if you're familiar  with a frozen food called Hot Pockets. It looks like a miniature pasty. I was never too impressed with them. They have more of a pie/pastry crust. I found I much prefer the biscuit type crust the pasties have!  I substituted turnips (which I had on hand) for the rutabaga (which I like also, but I didn't have handy). I've baked these a couple times. I made a vegetable version that my daughter loved.

 

You asked about my sparring. There's not really much to tell. I have a close friend Jim. I grew up close to him and his sister Leanne. Everyone just called her Leah. Jims dad was big Jim. Big Jim was black, Jims mom was Mexican. (Leah was and still is beautiful.) Big Jim was friends with Sarge who owned the 'fitness gym' I sparred in. Big Jim owned a couple convenience stores. He had a nice home with an in ground pool we kids swam in. 

I was pretty much the only white kid that hung around in the gym. I was wrestling and running track in school at this time, working out with weights. I suppose I should tell about a series of incidents in school that affected me in regards to all this. I've said I've really lost my temper maybe twice in my life. This was one of them.

Jim was skinny and not tall at all. A kid that ran cross country and played basketball picked on him mercilessly. Tony was tall with long lankly arms and legs. I took issue with his bullying. We fought after school three times. The first two times he beat me like a drum. I looked like I'd got my head caught in a blender. He kept the crap up with Jim and inevitably it happened we were going to fight for the third time Friday afternoon.

I was friends with a couple big guys on the football team, and ate lunch with them regularly.

I was eating lunch with one when he piped up and said I hear you're going to fight Tony again Friday. I just shrugged and said Yeah. He said Why don't you wise up? I just said Huh? He said Tonys dad has gave him some boxing lessons, you need to learn how to box. I just smiled and said Right, before Friday. He said Well, you're a good wrestler. Instead of fighting him on his terms, force him to your terms. This was food for thought.

So the third time Tony and I fought I took his punches until I could grab one of his wrists. I pulled him to me and reached down, caught one of his legs and put him flat on his back. I jumped on top of him and proceeded to beat him senseless. I was driving my right fist into his face as hard as I could punch. I forced his upper teeth through his lower lip, and unfortunately broke my middle finger knuckle on his left cheek bone. He had those long arms. I was so close he couldn't get a proper swing on me. He was just kinda ineffectually beating on my back.

I'm not proud of it, but I just lost it. After a while two of my bigger friends picked me up and pulled me off him. I came to my senses quickly and watched some guys help him up. He was covered in blood and had a cut on his left cheek. I didn't knock him out, nothing even close. I walked over to him, a couple of his friends blocked me off. I said I'm just going to say something. They let me walk up to him. I told him This is what's going to happen every time you pick on Jim. We're going to fight. You're going to beat me 2 or three times, but I'm going to get you down every once in a while and when I do I'll beat you until you can't stand. He just looked at me like he scraped me off the bottom of his shoe.

In all fairness I had a black eye and split lip, I didn't walk away unscathed. And I had a hairline fracture in my right hand that still bothers me today. Tony got 5 or 6 stitches just below his bottom lip. Oh well, at least for once HE was the one that looked like his head was in a blender. Two things came from this. Tony bullied other kids, but he left Jim and I alone. And none of the other lower level bullies tried anything with me. I don't think I struck fear in anyone, but they knew for an absolute fact if they picked on me they weren't going to laugh and walk away. I had other schoolyard fights won a few, lost a few. But in all the other cases we made up, and some became close friends. Not Tony. He and I coldly ignored each other until I moved away years later.

The only other person I've kept animosity for I think I've bought up before.

At any rate Big Jim heard about all this and introduced me to Sarge. Sarge told me up front I'd never be a boxer, but I was plenty stocky enough to hang around and spar with some of the other guys with the long arms. Sparring taught me a lot, but a couple times a week Sarge or one of the really good boxers would focus on me and give me a real lesson. I eventually boxed in the P.A.L. No awards or trophies, but with my short, stocky arms when I snuck a good uppercut in I watched a few eyes glaze over with some weak knees. Once everyone at school heard I was boxing, the thugs gave me a wide berth.

Hope this makes for a few minutes reading Small. It might answer a few questions. Sorry again about this taking so long.

Take care!

 

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