Even as an infant Craig scared me with his rage. He couldn't have been more than three when he charged me from behind with a butcher knife because I had probably taken a lego piece from him. If it wasn't from Brian's warning, I may not be writing this story now.
Craig always acted on some strange sort of mojo that seemed to always end in luck. Being the only white family in our neighborhood called for quite a bit of attention. There were six of us brothers and about six to eight neighborhood kids that we spent time with outside. We normally had rock fights with two teams: Mexicans against the Ruggles boys. We would set some sort of boundary that created a distance between you and the opposing boy wishing to hit you between the eyes. Usually the loser was the first group to retreat or start crying. On our team, we would have the twins supply the ammo by finding rocks or creating mud balls while Brian, Craig, and myself would try to bring home the head of one of our beloved friends.
During one battle, we were losing ground due to one of the twins getting hit and our ammo production slowing down, and all of a sudden Craig pulled out his lucky bike reflector and stood on the line holding it towards our enemies. Those Krauts started throwing rocks straight at him totally distracting them to allow Brian and myself to get them where it hurt. The amazing thing was that Craig was never hit other than his reflector that he held in the palm of his hand! I remember the reflector getting hit at least four times.
1 comment:
Dude - I vaguely remember that. Also, I vaguely remember him trying it later to disastrous results.
Post a Comment