In the summer between 4th and 5th grades, my sister was sitting in a dead-end part of a street that was never used. The paving was broken up there and there were loose stones and pieces of cement. She had a large glass jar sitting beside her and she picked among the stones, placing the more interesting ones in the jar. Butch and another kid were standing around talking and laughing. One of them decided it would be fun to roll a stone over to where my sister was. I guess they wanted to see it they could influence her selections. I could picture the glass jar being struck and shattering.
“Hey, don’t do that! Sis could get hurt.” Immediately, Butch rolled another stone over, even closer to the jar. I repeated my warning to stop. He repeated his action. I went over and punched him. We got into a fight. His friend picked up a tree branch behind my back and struck me in the back of the head with it. I was enraged at the sneakiness and charged at him. He decided to take refuge in his house. I chased him to the building, through the kitchen door, and up the stairs to a second floor room where his mother was ironing. As she found two boys charging into the room, one a stranger, she naturally started calming us down. “Whoa! What on earth are you doing?”
I tried ignoring her to pounce on my prey but she separated us and demanded an explanation. It became apparent to all three of us that I was bleeding from the back of my head. Who had done what to whom quickly came out. She sympathized with me and dabbed at my head with a damp cloth.
I don’t remember any further contact with that kid or his mother but I remember that incident.
