Lost at Wrestling

 Wrestling in the grass was a regular pastime at the park, and I practiced more than most. I only remember losing once—and not because I said, “I give up.” That was the usual way to lose, but I was too stubborn for that. It was never going to happen.

That day, I was wrestling with a friend while my brother Bruce watched. Another guy wandered over to watch, too. I’ll call him John. I had only seen him at the park a few times, but Bruce told me he was in his class. That meant he was younger than me, and from what I could tell, he was also shorter.

There were a few of us hanging around, taking turns wrestling. The usual rule was that the winner stayed in, facing a new challenger each round. I had just won another match when John, who had been watching closely, spoke up.

"I can beat you."

I laughed. “Let’s go.”

Before we started, I had already noticed something—John had some serious muscle. But I didn’t think it would make much difference. Strength alone wasn’t enough to win.

As soon as we locked up, I realized I had underestimated him. John was strong—really strong—and impossible to get a hold of. No matter what I tried, he wasn’t budging. A few minutes in, I couldn’t move. Neither of us could. We were stuck in a human trap.

"Give up?" we both asked each other, but neither of us was willing to say it first.

I don’t know how long we were locked in that stalemate before I heard Bruce’s voice.

"I’m going to tell Mom."

"NO!" I shouted, but he ignored me. I guess he could feel my pain.

Bruce took off running. We only lived across the street, so it didn’t take long before he was back—with Mom right behind him.

"Let him go right now!" she yelled.

John and I obeyed immediately. We agreed—he won.

Looking back, I realize John was probably working out and training. I had walked into a match with someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?