When I was in third grade there was a tough kid named Red Webster
who was in the fourth grade and loved to bully the younger kids,
He had bright red hair, his pie face was covered with red freckles,
and he had a tough Irish look, at least to us smaller kids.
This went on for several years,
until I was in the seventh or eighth grade.
There was a huge empty field of grass and high weeds near our house
where we played baseball in the Spring and Summer and football in the Fall.
One spring day the guys were gathering for the first game of the season,
and Red Webster showed up yelling provocative insults at me.
It was a mistake.
I was big and strong by then.
When I was up at bat he yelled from right field,
“Hey, glasses, try and hit one this far. Haha.”
I turned my batting stance more to the right
and hit the ball way over his head and beyond.
By the time he found it in the weeds I had a home run.
Then I stomped out there and beat the crap out of him.
After that he wanted to be my side-kick,
so we were friends for about a year,
but occasionally I picked on him just for old times’ sake.
I saw him about ten years later, and felt nothing…
no friendship, no hard feelings.
He was just a jerk who started as a bully,
and worked his way up to nothing.
Red sneaked around with my at-the-time girlfriend.
I didn’t much care.
They deserved each other.
I would kinda like to see him again
just to slap the old bastard around one more time.