Do you remember

a time when there wasn't a thing called a cell phone? When talking into

a watch on your wrist was something you saw only in comic books? (Note:

For the young readers out there - all two of ya - comic books were the

precurser to video games.)

Yes, back in

the day when peanut butter and jelly sandwiches weren't banned from schools

and a good game of dodge ball could be enjoyed during recess, there were

effective forms of communication other than cell phones. For example,

when my grandfather was going to elementary school, the best form of mass

communication was to telegraph. When my father was going to elementary

school, the best form of mass communication was to telephone. And when

I was in elementary school, the best form of mass communication was to

tell Blabber-Mouth Betsy.

If you wanted

the entire neighborhood to know something, all you had to do was tell

Blabber-Mouth Betsy in the morning, and by late afternoon you could be

sure that everyone knew. Telling Betsy was much better than the old system

we had before she moved in down the street - telling Tattle-Tale Tina.

When we told Tattle-Tale Tina anything, we knew she would tell, but she

would only tell one or two people and stop.

Not Blabber-Mouth

Betsy. No, she wouldn't stop 'til she told everybody the news, and it

didn't matter what the news was. She just loved to blab.

In less than

a month of moving in down the street, she had a communication network

in place that rivaled the space program. If any of us boys got into trouble

at school, we knew Mom and Dad would find out before we got home. Not

from the teacher, not from the school, but from Blabber-Mouth-Betsy.

If we threw

an eraser, she blabbed; if we told a joke in class, she blabbed. She even

blabbed when we made little fart noises when the teacher's back was turned!

Our parents loved Blabber-Mouth.Betsy; we all didn't.

Betsy had soon

become a serious problem for us, and not just because of our academic

shenanigans. For you see, she didn't just blab about things that went

on during school - which was bad enough - she also blabbed about things

that went on after school. Suddenly, with her arrival to our neighborhood,

the "After School Fight Tradition" was in jeopardy.

The "After

School Fight Tradition" almost started when I threw a spitball and

hit Big Bubba in the back of the head. He chased me all around the library,

and I wound up in the principal's office. That's the first and only day

I ever had to stay after school, but I didn't mind - Big Bubba was waiting

for me down by the old magnolia tree. The "After School Fight Tradition"

did not start that day with me - it started the next day with Older Brother

Richard.

The tradition

started innocently enough during a walk back home from school when I was

in the second grade. We lived in a time and in an area of town when it

was safe to walk to and from school. A short 15-minute walk: down the

hill in our backyard, pass to the right by the swamp, around the lake,

under the rope swing, around The Forest and down the street a ways past

the old magnolia tree - and we were at school. Us four boys and The Sister

made that trip every morning and afternoon 'cept when it rained. Then

we'd pile into the back of the green station wagon with wood panels, and

Mom drove us to school.

Older Brother

Richard was walking ahead of us trying to ignore his little brothers,

when it happened. Just as he passed the old magnolia tree, two fifth-graders

jumped out and wrestled him to the ground! Brother Richard put up one

heck of a fight and ended up chasing them away - but not before they grabbed

his lunch box. Older Brother Richard later said it was because they saw

him put the change from buying milk at lunch in it. (Dad had given him

five dollars that day and told him to bring back the change.) But I knew

they really were after my mom's uneaten apple turnover.

Mom took good

care of us when we were in school, every day packing each one of us a

good healthy lunch. A lunch that consisted of peanut and honey sandwiches,

apples, chips, and some sort of dessert. Now it was no secret that my

mom made the best desserts in town, and it was no secret to Big Bubba

either.

Even though

Big Bubba was in the fourth grade, he was bigger than most seventh graders.

When he reached high school, he was the best tackler our football team

had every seen. To this day he still holds the title for most tackles

in a single season. Most say his great size was due to a medical condition,

but I knew differently - it was due to five years of only eating my mom's

desserts for lunch.

Big Bubba always

got what he wanted, and all he wanted at lunchtime was Twin Brother Mark's

and my desserts. Resistance was futile. I tried once - that's how Big

Bubba and I finally wound up fighting down by the old magnolia.

About once

a week one of us boys could be found fighting down by that tree after

school. We only fought as a last resort, and only about stuff that had

to be defended, like honor and mom's lunchtime desserts.

When anyone

bad mouthed our Mom, Dad, or The Sister, well, them were fighting words,

and it was about honor. But the fight with Big Bubba wasn't about honor;

it was for something much more important - Mom's lunchtime desserts.

Mom and Dad

heard about the fight between Big Bubba and me even before we reached

home, thanks to Blabber-Mouth Betsy. Mom was waiting at the front door

and cried when she saw my torn shirt and bloody lip. Dad just asked me

two questions.

"Who threw

the first punch, son?"

I answered,

"Big Bubba did."

Dad nodded

his head. (He thought as long as the other person started the fight, he

wouldn't get sued.) His second question was, "Who won the fight?"

I saw Blabber-Mouth-Betsy

last week; she's working for a local politician trying to get his word

out to the masses. With her communication network in place, he'll probably

be the next president of the United States. As to who won the fight? Well,

let's just say from that day on I brought two desserts - one was in my

lunch box for Big Bubba's lunch, and one was in my locker for me after

lunch.

[Rick Ryckeley

is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services.

He can be reached at [email protected].]