Learning to Box

Learning to Box "Always lead with your left— never leave your chin out." He closes my right hand into a fist and cups it with his left like paper wrapping rock in Rock, Paper, Scissors, yanking it up to my face. My father has a square chin, which is good for a man. Mine is round. His black curly hair tightens on his forehead. My sandy brown hair falls in loose strands that tickle the skin above my eyebrows. "Do you understand?" I nod. I can hear the Gillette jingle, "Look sharp . . . and feel sharp . . . and be sharp," in between rounds, on the tv. A bright light drops over us like the light in a boxing ring where we stand in my room between the bed and the desk, only a foot of space on either side of us. "Let me see what you know." I get into position, crouching, my shoulders lifted almost to my ears, looking over my knuckles at the hump in his white t-shirt where his belly pushes out. "If some guy throws a punch here," he says and presses his fist against my right cheek bone, "step inside ifyou can 37 and let him have it with your right." He pushes his fist at me and turns it at the last second near the tip of my nose, his knuckles swollen into a knot. I watch it as though staring through a window at some belligerent bird ripping a worm from the bark trails in the trunk of a maple. "Punch him like you mean it and no one will ever bother you again. ... Do you understand?" I nod again. Now the bell for the 10th round dings and as he turns away, the quarters ching in his deep loose pockets. JeffFriedman 38 ...