HOW ABOUT THREE OUT OF FIVE?

HOW ABOUT THREE OUT OF FIVE?

Type: Assignment
Words: 2523

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(Submitted by Creative Writing Teacher)

The grade 12 writing assignment was to describe the most inspirational character encountered while earning the community service work credit. In the Province of Ontario, high school students are required to donate thirty hours of their time over four years. This was one student's submission.


Chelsea Estates is the last choice when it comes to retirement accommodations. Last choice, meaning the last decision most of the 135 residents will ever make about a place to live. The complex strangely resembles a suburban shopping mall -- wide corridors, vaulted ceilings, panoramic walls of glass and skylights. Instead of stores are residences. The sunken dining terrarium would pass for a food court with the addition of familiar fast food signage. Nursing islands stand watch where one is accustomed to seeing information and lottery kiosks.
 
At first glance, the prevalence of retirees in this setting raised a thought. What are the chances? Could seniors' fitness walks inside actual shopping malls, in reality be veiled orientations for this place? Is this facility all part of some big city, greedy mall developer's, cradle-to-grave master plan? An intriguing concept, one of many idle musings to pass the time while fulfilling my community service credit.
 
A ring of tables overlook the dining area from the main level. A child's crayon handiwork proudly hangs from one leg. The sign reads 'The Penalty Box'. Two battle scarred curmudgeons, Boom Boom and The Hammer, perch together at the same elevated vantage point.

A day doesn’t go by without the two locking horns and causing a scene. It's as if a scrap started on the ice back in Junior-A hockey and never finished. They have fistfight-ed through the NHL, Old-Timers and now, retirement. Most of their scars, or so they claim, are the result of pounding on each other. Consequently, because of such history, the stories rarely repeat (thankfully) as they salt old wounds just for 'shits and giggles'. (1.) The two count on the nurses and aids like myself to separate them before punches have to be thrown, much like the referees in the later part of their careers. (I suggested the uniform should include striped shirts and whistles.) Knowing threats never have to be carried out, taunts are nothing more than bravado and sabre rattling.
 
Seventy-five years difference in our ages and it still takes all my strength to keep them apart. "Just let them go at it," the frailest of the golden-agers often yells. The temptation is there, but thankfully, logic prevails. Wheezing and high blood pressure are too high a price to pay.
 
"All this fighting, don't you ever get tired of it?" I asked.
 
"Tired of it?" said Boom Boom. "It's like asking do I get tired of breathing? It's how I reset things straight."
 
If it wasn't for the mangled nose or the offset bottom lip typical of a stroke, perhaps I would have shown a little more respect to this nugget of wisdom. That not being the case, my look of pity insulted him. He shoved me away.
 
"My words are backed up by my fists, little girl", he said. "Knowing that, people choose theirs carefully. You should too." By the tone and expression, there was little doubt his mallets for hands had finished many conversations in the past. "Disagree with me,' he said, "and you can expect a smack. But it will always be followed by a handshake. Things get set straight. We both move on. We know what we can say and what we can't say ... ain't that so, Hammer? Ha!"
 
Hammer answered by raising his clenched fist.
 
"The people who choose not to fight are the ones to worry about. They live disfigured in a world anything can be said by anyone. When words go unchallenged, talking and listening stops. There's no handshake. Things are not set straight."
 
"Look at all the psycho stuff you read about in the news today, right here on our streets in Chelsea. It's because no one took the time to punch them in the head to set them straight. They stayed that way."
 
"Try it sometime. The next time someone is in your face yammering on about your business, just POW! Set 'em straight. One punch can accomplish more than all the talking in the world. One shot to the jaw, then shake their hand. Now that's important. Be sure to shake their hand. If you don't you'll probably have to hit them again. If not now, sometime in the future."

"So girlie. Show us what you got. Hit me. Right here." he said as he pointed at his cheek.

Boom Boom and The Hammer bet on anything. The owner of the next set of dentures to land in their meal. Which resident would trip over their walker? Which room light would flash for assistance? Who would be next to be carried off on a gurney? No bet was offside. Money changed hands throughout the day. Clandestine poker pots around the facility paled in comparison.

One wager Hammer always won was that the oldest resident would willfully turn in their jersey before having their number ceremoniously retired. Boom Boom jumped at this bet. Retirement is as cut throat as every other industry in Chelsea. Many rooms sit empty. To have the oldest citizen in town living here was considered a competitive advantage. The best accommodations were provided for next to nothing, so it didn't make sense to voluntarily move to a different retirement home. Hammer even offered odds.
 
Unbeknown-st to Boom Boom, Hammer secretly convinced the money player that the honour was actually a curse - the kiss of death. (Think about it.) Winning the bet must have been satisfying, but I'm willing to wager the real reward to Hammer was knowing Boom Boom's name progressively moved up the list for the luxury suite.
 
And when they weren't betting, they were reliving their hockey careers. Every scar led into an epic tale. Their bodies spoke volumes. Visiting children raced to greet them, even before their own family members. Neglected grandparents' complaints fell on deaf ears. Boom Boom and the Hammer never failed to mesmerize ... all except for two children - Nevada, Hammer's great grandson and a school mate Fergus..
 
Hammer's daughter was always too busy to visit, her whole life so it seemed. To ease her conscience, she parachuted her children in her place. The family tradition continued into the next generation with Nevada. Family rifts were obvious by his comments. Unknowingly, he parroted his parents' and grandparents' negative sentiments. Hammer and his great grandson never had the chance to bond.
 
One day after classes, Nevada and Fergus reluctantly performed the family duties. The two boys couldn’t have been more alike and more polar opposite to the hockey legends. Interest lied in books and the Internet, definitely not sports. The story behind Hammer's most disfiguring scar, reserved only for special occasions, did not even inspire a curious glance up from their computers.
 
Nevada turned to his friend and asked, "Did you find anything yet on how Essex got it's name? All I can gather is that it is named after some place in East of England, and 'Center' was added because it is the hub of the county."
 
The Town of Essex was a twenty minute drive, halfway between Chelsea and Windsor.
 
"Essex?" said Boom Boom, with a wink to Hammer, "Sure do. Lived there for twenty years."
 
Nevada's eyes rolled. Hammer recognized the reaction. The expression was a familiar dagger to his heart. It reminded him of his grandson and daughter whenever he tried to share a story.
 
"You see my boys," said Boom Boom. "Essex was incorporated as a Village around 1890. The name was chosen, not because of it's English history as you said, but because it's similarity in sound. The original settlers used to wink, tongue-in-cheek, as you caught me doing to Hammer, whenever they said Essex. All history buffs do the same."

The boys decided they had better listen or they would never get their homework done.

"After kicking the Americans' butts in the War of 1812, discharged soldiers stationed at Fort Malden, on the mouth of the Detroit River, were rewarded with cannon mules and five acres of land. One condition was that the forest had to be cleared into farmland within a year. If successful, the reward was five acres more. The only way to clear the land so fast was to burn it. So for fifty years the trees burned ... oak ... walnut. People as far away as Chicago witnessed the glow in the southeastern night sky.(2)"
 
"A natural ridge left behind by the glaciers ran diagonally across the county from Windsor to Point Pelee. Much of the land either side was swampy. This crest was the route for one of the first roads to cross the county. To keep the wagons wheels from sinking into the mud, logs were laid side by side. You can imagine how it hurt the butt-kiss riding in a wagon. That is where the word corduroy like in your shirt comes from."
 
"A discharged canon brigade signed up for land together. The soldiers had fought shoulder to shoulder, so naturally they wanted to be neighbours. When given directions to their survey, they were told it's a morning's ride until your ASS ACHES. He was referring to their mules of course. Guys being guys ... the name stuck."
 
"But when the name was registered, Ass Aches was misinterpreted as Essex like in England, as you are doing now. Since they were better soldiers than spellers, the mistake was not caught until it was too late. So the wink was added to make it appear as if the choice was intentional from the get go."
 
Never had such a silence befell the dining area. Everyone was spellbound by the story told from the Penalty Box.
 
"Are you trying to fail my great grandson?" interrupts Hammer.
 
"Well it's true," said Boom Boom. "Read it for yourself. Burwell's diary at Fort Malden."

Boom Boom was a pro at peppering just enough truth to raise doubt amongst even the strongest of disbelievers. 'Mahlon Burwell was commissioned to survey the old Indian trail now known as Hwy 3. It wasn't until the 1820's that the Ridge leading to Leamington began housing settlers. This section was opened as Talbot Road and was developed from Maidstone, Essex, Cottam and Ruthven.'.(3)
 
This of course escalated into a confrontation which could only be decided outside. So off both trudged down the echoing corridor, oxygen tank and intravenous in tow.
 
Nevada and Fergus looked at each other. "I think they’re really going to fight. Let’s go watch!"
 
Once outside, the insults, hand gestures and wheezing intensified. ‘Hit ‘im Hammer! coached Nevada.
 
"That's not fighting," laughed Fergus. "They look like Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets."
 
Boom Boom, Hammer and Nevada simultaneously stopped and turned. That jeer was uncalled for - way over the top.
 
"Well maybe you'd like to demonstrate Mr. M-i-k-e T-y-s-o-n?" said Boom Boom. "Nevada, it's time to man up, my boy. He just dis'd your family."
 
The intense stares offered little choice. Reluctant at first, all it took was the first connection. The boys went at it.
 
Boom Boom and Hammer untangled each other's hoses and took a seat on the bench to watch.
 
Two geeks fighting? I hate to admit it, but from behind the glass door it was rather entertaining. I've seen more blows landed at a bra sale when the shelves start to empty. But amusing as it was, and representing the facility, I couldn't stand by and watch from a distance. I approached to intervene.
 
A cane crossed my legs.
 
"You're a hockey fan right?" Said Boom Boom. "Third man in ... Let em go. They’ll sleep better tonight."
 
"You guys are incorrigible," I said. "What are their parents going to say?"
 
"What could they possibly do?" said Hammer. "Put us in a home? Spend more time with us?"
 
Giving in, I joined them on the bench. Hammer offered gummy bears. Boom Boom continued his local history lesson, occasionally interrupted by a unanimous appreciation of knuckles landing.
 
Nevada eventually surrendered. Boom Boom collected a twenty from Hammer. "Whose ass aches now? Ha!" he said. "I told you my geek could take your geek."
 
"Nevada, come here," said Hammer. "Bet you never had a black eye before. That’s going to be a doozie. Boom Boom, what do you think? Bet you can’t wait to show that off at school tomorrow? Let me see your hand. I better wash that off."
 
Hammer disconnected his intravenous and squirted off the blood. Nevada winced. "Suck it up Buttercup," said Hammer. "Great grandad takes the whole bag in his blood."
 
"Now put me in a headlock," he said offering fighting tips. "So what you do is protect your face with your right like this. Now in one motion step behind his right leg, reach around with your left and lean back into him. You’re not going to learn to defend yourself from a book or a video. You have to know how to fight. If your dad’s not going to show you, Hammer will. Now get back in there and try again."

He winks at his betting companion indicating double or nothing. Boom Boom nods.
 
On first pass, this characterization can be misread as a description of lifelong bullies finding amusement at the expense of the defenseless. The misdirection is intentional. That is how most of the world views them.
Boom Boom is my choice as the most inspirational character because I see the playground antics for what they really are - therapeutic tough love. When he spoke of setting someone straight, terrorizing his way of thinking down their throats was never the motive. His intent was to break their way of thinking. He recognized it had to be reset as the only way to heal straight, just as an improperly healed bone has to be re-broken to mend properly. It is why the handshake was always so important.
 
Provoking the children to fight served two purposes. The obvious was to make men of them by breaking the geeky cast currently molding them. Not so obvious though, was Boom Boom's motivation to fracture the existing relationship between his good friend Hammer and his great grandson. The dysfunction needed resetting so it too could heal straight.
 
I can confidently say that whenever I find myself healing from life's body-checks and poor sportsmanship, I will draw inspiration from Chelsea's hockey icon. Considering the thousands of emotional breaks one faces in a lifetime, it is amazing how anyone can avoid disfigurement. No anxiety. No depression. No delusions. With only a grade eight education, this old warrior, this instigator, this misunderstood bully, this friend ... is as straight as they come.



   
Footnotes:
1. Their words not mine.
2. www.countyofessex.on.ca/countyhistory/earlyyears_home.asp
3. ibid