Two Angry Men

Growing up in the area of Wichita Falls know as “Dogpatch” marked the income status of our family as low. We lived in a tiny two bedroom house on 31^st street just a few doors from Bonham Elementary School. The house was old when we moved there when I was five and needed much repair. I remember my dad sanding and refinishing the pecan floors throughout the house and building what seemed like a giant covered porch on the front side of the house.

After all of the repairs and decorating were done, my mother was very pleased. This was the nicest house she had ever lived in. But a storm was brewing in our own home in the form of my older sister, Vickie.

She and my father were at odds most of the time and argued furiously. Dad was working to keep his anger under control because he had already had a couple of heart attacks and wanted to stay alive to see his grandchildren grown. But her rebellious, teenage years came to maturity when she started dating a young man who lived just across the street. His name was Jimmy.

Dad did not approve of my sister dating or even hanging out with Jimmy. So my sister, at the age of 17, married Jimmy just to prove she could do whatever she wanted. Vickie seemed to have her heart set on having these two men in her life fight over her as she often stood nearby egging each of them on.

It all came to a head one Sunday afternoon when my dad was taking his weekly nap. My sister came busting into the house crying loudly, “Daddy, please don’t go out there and fight with Jimmy.” Dad rose from his bed not sure what was going on and questioned what on earth she was talking about. She responded, “Jimmy says if you come out in the street to fight with him he is going to cut you up. Please, Daddy, don’t fight him, he will kill you.”

My sister had to know that kind of plea was like throwing a steak to a dog…he is going to bite. And dad did. All I saw him do was grab a newspaper from off the coffee table and head for the door. My sister was pleading for him not to go out there as was my mother. We all followed him out onto the front porch.

Dad walked out in the street. Jimmy and my dad stood several feet away from and facing one another…just like in the old west movies. The whole neighborhood seemed quiet as people waited for someone to speak. Jimmy spoke up as he pulled a hunting knife from behind his back. He waved it in the air in a menacing manner and said, “Old man, I told you I’m gonna cut you up.”

My dad was still holding the rolled up newspaper in his hand but it was evidently a diversion because as quickly as Jimmy lunged for dad, my dad pulled out a 38 revolver and fired off a round at Jimmy. I don’t know how, but he missed him. Jimmy turned as quickly as a rabbit and headed for his house with my dad firing shots at him as quickly as he could. I could not see where the projectiles were landing until Jimmy was ducking into his door and one hit the door frame inches from Jimmy’s head…splintering the wood. Dad turned and slowly left the field of battle.

In my young eyes, my daddy was a hero. He wasn’t afraid anybody. But one of the greatest things that happened that day was nobody died.

Recently, my family and I were visiting my boyhood home and both of those houses still stand. I was able to point out to my wife the hole in the door frame of Jimmy’s old house. That hole stands as a testimony of the grace of God. Jimmy and my dad had escaped with their lives. Jimmy did not die and my dad did not go to prison. The grace of God had saved both of the hot headed men and their families from a horrible fate.

I like to reflect on the stories I tell and share my observations. As I sat telling this story to my wife she asked, “What did you learn from this story?” My reply, “Simple, don’t wake a man up from his nap.”