The favorite part of my life was growing up in Georgia. Part of the indoctrination of being from the South is having the ability to use fire arms while in the adolescent years of ones youth. Since I was the third in line of nine, it was only natural to possess the ability, I think I could shoot a pea off a watermelon at twenty-five feet while only in the fourth grade. It was here, at this stage of my youth the trust in my oldest brother would become the object of an often passed around story at our family gatherings.

 During the summer of a real hot day, Sammy Blackstone and my brother had just come back from the woods, the description of which likened to one of Mark Twain��s extraordinary images of a scene taken from the back roads of a rural country setting. Within walking distance of our home were the treasures that fade away with one��s adult life. The smell of the tall pines, honeysuckle bushes, endless pollywog swamps, age ole animal trails, cool dips in clear streams, and free sunning cottonmouth water moccasins laying in wait on branches above this oft times dangerous streams. This was our youth during the day light hours. While at night our surroundings barely touched by flooding masses of people looking for peace was alive with the multitude of noises and sights that formed the backdrop of the real South. The sounds of thousands of katydids, screeching barn owls sitting alone in trees, millions of lightning bugs sending morse code messages through the dark, insolent and agressive mosquitoes hungry for blood, sneaking sounds of raccoons, possums, small deer, and other nocturnal creatures awake looking for food, surviving in the hot drenching humidity common in the July and August months. It was in these surroundings I became ��Stupid." 

 My brother and his best friend, Sam Blackstone had been out in the back woods hunting the denizens that made their homes within part of Nature��s offerings, during the daylight hours it was squirrels, chipmunks, lizards, snakes, large frogs, unsuspecting birds, or old bottles��a normal Rebel outing living in the South in the early ��60��s. Now as they emerged from the woods, bush beat and sweating from the heat they continued up the slight hill toward our house. Stopping at the door that led into the ground floor of the house they entered. The area inside had been portioned into several different areas that all served a purpose. One area served as a bedroom and study, another area laundry room with bathroom, and the final open area was used as would be a normal basement. The bedroom and study had been built for the the oldest boys, of which I was the third, the other six children of the Greene family lived upstairs with our parents. Once inside, I heard my brother complaining that his bb gun had lost all its power and couldn't make a dent in a piece of paper, Sammy, who was carrying a more powerful pellet gun started to laugh and he said, �� Y��all need to to get a better critter gun, then seeing me he added, ��Shit, give that one to your brother.�� Of course when I heard him say that I got real excited, I couldn��t count the amount of times I would sneak the bb gun out of the bedroom when my brother was not there and go into the woods to prove I was growd up enough, now with the possibility of having my own bb gun I waited for his answer.

 This is where ��Stupid�� suddenly took over any rational thought I may have had,; up to that moment I was a normal kid brother, however once I heard the bb gun could become my possession I became overwhelmed with anticipation. Dick, my brother, as his name referenced had his own philosophy about life as he saw it. Everything was a joke, even though an event or moment became other person��s misery, sensitivity was not one of his qualities, it seemed he had little regard for the feelings of others.  

 Sensing this moment of control and being on stage before his friend Sam Blackstone, he started to bait me, ��You don��t want this bb gun, it��s about done, can��t hurt anything, let me show you how weak it is by shooting you in the head.�� Then quickly he pumped the gun and shot it at the wall, he was right, the small bb had  made just a slight indent .  Knowing I was undecided, he said, "I told you the gun had lost most of the power it had when it was new." Realizing I needed just a bit more coaxing,  Sam Blackstone was quick to add, ��Yourn brother is rite, go on now let him shoot you in the head.�� As I always trusted Sam more than my brother my choice had been made.  With the anticipation and excitement the bb gun would be mine I agreed. 

 My brother took that ole weak Daisy pump bb gun and shot me in the side of my head��I screamed, it hurt and they both through gasps of their laughter called me ��Stupid."

Egle