Our challenge is to write a story by interpreting the photo below in only six minutes.
Pablo was tired of his grandfather’s constant reminder to look at something called “The Big Picture”. He was always so DARN positive! It was foolish and old fashioned and, frankly, meant nothing to him. Pablo had worries galore. “Where would he get a new plow?” “When would his son be old enough to help with chores?” “Why didn’t the weather cooperate with his farming timeline?” One day, news of his neighbor’s son being killed in a freak accident brought him to his knees. Pablo was devastated for his neighbor and, of course, offered him his assistance with his farm in addition to his own duties. He sat overwhelmed with his workload and placed his face in his hands. Suddenly, his 5-year-old son grabbed him around the neck and kissed him on the cheek offering comfort to his distraught Dad.
And that’s when Pablo knew, for the first time, what his grandfather had always meant.
Your prompt for #JusJoJan the 28th and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “throw in the towel.” Use the phrase “throw in the towel” somewhere in your post. Enjoy!
The phrase we’re asked to use came from the sport of boxing. Well, it used to be a ‘sport’.
Yep, it’s a bit barbaric but compared to ancient Rome and gladiators, not so much. And those boxers are willing participants.
I used to watch Friday Night Boxing with my grandfather when I was about 6 or 7. (It was usually sponsored by Piels beer. I’ve posted one below. Notice there’s no disclaimer to not ‘drink and drive’. People, back then, knew better on their own, I guess. LOL)
Wait… let’s back up a bit. So, the phrase “throw in the towel” was synonymous with “crying Uncle” or for you younger folks, “giving up”. The manager would throw the towel he carried on his shoulder, for wiping his boxer’s face between rounds, into the ring if he realized that his guy was taking too much of a beating. Then the fight was over.
Back in the 60s, boxing was a popular sport. Was it dangerous? Yes. But it was no more potentially dangerous to one’s health than felling trees, or playing football, or building ‘towering skyscrapers’ and it was one way, inner-city, working-class men could make a living. Not the glamorous millionaire kind of today but a bare living.
But as all ‘sports’ have gone, so has boxing and it’s all about the ‘money’ now. There used to be technique and lots of training. Now it’s hype and showmanship.
I learned that there were two kinds of combatants…sluggers and boxers. The sluggers were just looking for a “knock out” and had powerful punches. The boxers were quick and skilled at endurance. They trained to deflect and ‘dance’ while wearing out their bulkier rivals by going the 10 rounds. The rings also varied. Some were larger than others. The smaller ones advantaged the sluggers because their rival had less area to avoid them optimizing the chances of a lucky blow. The large rings did the opposite. A skilled boxer could avoid exchanging blows as often and could tire out his rival (taking his arm strength away from fatigue) by making him the pursuer.
Which brings me to those Rocky movies. What the heck? That’s not ‘boxing’! Once I watched the first one and saw the back-and-forth carnage allowed, I “threw in the towel” on ever watching another one. If money doesn’t ruin something, Hollywood surely will!
Grandfather was a stoic man who intrigued me, as much as, he intimidated me, so when he told me “There’s a brown snake up in that attic.”, I believed him. Through the years, he retreated to that loft every evening and I used to hear him whistling up there, which made me wonder what he was doing, but even more, I wondered how he ignored the snake? After the funeral, I climbed those attic stairs for the first time to find a sanctuary of expression he’d left behind meant for me to discover and the ‘snake’ he hadn’t lied about. (100 words) Three Line Tales 264 | Only 100 Words
Sports metaphors are my favorites. In my opinion, American football is the best sport! We can tackle a problem or punt. We can choose a good offense or a stiff defense in our approach to life and the idea of penalties for fouls (especially personal ones) speaks for itself.
Each of us have moments of which we are most proud. I call these my Super Bowl moments. A Super Bowl moment is defined by a daunting task that we take on and, against the odds, prevail. You know, like the New york Giants handing the New England Patriots their heads a few years ago 🙂 (I am a Giants fan!)
One of my Super Bowl moments came after my grandfather’s death. I wanted to speak grand words on his behalf, as well as, the behalf of my grandmother and mother. As it happened, I was on a summer retreat to our forest camp. I spent many tearful hours composing a memorial statement in the form of a poem. Finally, I found the right words. The only thing left was to find the calm and courage to recite it at the funeral. Talk about getting mentally prepared…I kept telling myself that this would be my personal Super Bowl moment and crying was NOT an option. The day came and when the pastor asked, “Does anyone want to speak?”, I stood up promptly and delivered a message that made everyone proud. I was even approached by the attendants from the funeral parlor who thought that I had done very well to memorialize a loved one. (Heck, they see so many services I was flattered!)
(I will add a copy of the poem to this post. I don’t have it handy.}
My goal is to remind my readers of their Super Bowl moments…I’d like to hear them. I expect to win another “ring” in my future. I’m sure I’ll know when the “game” is ON!
Since so many other online writers have blogs dedicated to their writings, I’ve decided to jump onto the bandwagon. All posts published here will be either fiction or poetry, some new, and some previously published on various places on the Internet. Some of my works are conventional, and some are quirky. All fiction posted here, except for fan fiction, will include the letters "rose" somewhere, as a tribute to my Baba.