In the sad excuse for ‘sport’ that is the WWE, a clothesline is a move by which one opponent cross-arms the other over the neck, thereby knocking them down.
I was clotheslined once, but not quite like that.
Oh, I was knocked down all right.
Nearly – or so I thought at the time – down for the count.
However, there were no wrestling moves involved.
Oh, no. My ‘clotheslining’ involved *actual* clothesline.
I must have been… I dunno… Seven years old? Maybe six?
It was one of those things, the memory of which is crystal clear in the minutiae but the overarching details are a blur. So it’s hard to say.
I know it was summer time, because I was wearing red shorts.
I know it was a Saturday, because my brother and I were out ‘working’ with our father — his idea of “family time” when it came to spending time with us kids was to take us with him to his handyman-type odd jobs he did on Saturdays — at my great-aunt’s house.
Those are the things I know for sure.
What I couldn’t tell you — what I have absolutely zero surety about — is what on earth possessed me to climb up great-aunt Eldeen’s porch, grab onto the clothesline that was strung between the pillars, and swing myself out over the stairs like I was Tarzan.
Oh, I can tell you the aftermath.
I can tell you how the hard edges of the wooden stairs left red stripe marks on my back, and the crash-back of my head against them as I slid down – thump, thump, thump, thump – to grass left a goose egg on the back of my head.
How, when I was able to focus my eyes, I saw my little brother staring down at me. And beyond him, in the black-and-white sky above his head, an incongruously puffy cloud rolled by at the speed of an ice cube melting.
I can tell you about the fear. Worry over getting in trouble (I’d broken the clothesline in my stunt-Tarzan-ing, obviously) warred with OhmyGOD, I can’t breathe, I’mgonnaDIE (and in front of my little brother, no less — why hasn’t the little cuss gone for help, anyway?) while my chest tightened further around each shooting pain that rode through my lungs.
Yes, I can tell you all those things.
I can also tell you that my brother never said a word about it to either of my parents and that my parents never said a word about the marks on my back or the bruise on my noggen. Neither the secret-keeping nor the willful ignorance was a new experience.
But getting the wind knocked out of me was a new experience.
And I can tell you that getting the wind knocked out of you is a hellacious experience. Unfortunately, it’s and experience I’ve had more than once in my lifetime. So I can also tell you that it’s not something you get better at with practice.
But regardless of the repeat result, I can tell you that the cause of having the wind knocked out of me was one I scrupulously avoided from then on: even though I’ve had the wind knocked out of me on more than one occasion, I assiduously avoided getting clotheslined ever again.
My Tarzan days ended with my spectacular clothesline crash.
Playing Wonder Woman, on the other hand…
Well, what can I say? Some things are just harder than others to outgrow. 😉
for the Reminiscences project prompt: WIND
To read more about the project, or to join in, click the badge or the prompt above.
Yeah, I remember being clotheslined by the real thing, running around with my friends playing tag, being chased through a backyard and looking back at my pursuer… and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back with a sheet floating down and covering me… and my neck and throat was hurting something fierce. Not a “Wind” event for me… but a lesson in always looking at where you’re going instead of looking back at where you’ve already been.
Haha! I can picture it!
My little brother and I used to run between the sheets my mom would hang on the line. She had actual clothesline poles though, whereas my great-aunt just strung her line across the porch pillars.
Hahaha I love how you did this, had the idea to swing like tarzan with a clothesline. And wow, you’ve written this down so magnificently. I can picture it all, completely understand the thoughts that went through your mind after you had fallen down.
I am not normally – and never have been, even as a child – a spontaneous, be-crazy person. But there is, of course, an exception to every rule. *laugh*
I totally get what you mean…. being clothes-lined, whether it be emotionally, physically, or any other kind of ‘ally’ makes one involuntarily defensive; one could be scarred for life by such an experience.
Great prompt piece , Feve !!!
https://youtu.be/-CixtG_bF28
So true — and once those defenses go up, I think it becomes instinctual to fortify them. The idea of un- building defenses is a foreign concept for many of us, I think.
This made me smile and I had a full picture in my mind of you as Tarzan! Having the wind knocked out of you indeed is a terrible experience. My most recent one wasn’t even by a punch, but by popping strong mint chewing gum in my mouth, starting to chew and then… er… I breathed in the mint… I couldn’t breathe. I was in the car, driving… and I sat there gasping and gasping and gasping. I thought I might pass out, might kill myself and someone else as I tried to keep the car going… and then finally, finally I could catch my breath. I’ve stopped eating those strong mints…
Oh gosh, yes — breathing in that flavor… Of menthol or strong herb or hot spice… And having that ‘freeze’ effect on your breathing! I know exactly what you mean!
(And if it gets physically stuck in your throat, it’s worse!) 😱
I so get this – I wanted to be Tarzan and would play act it out in the woods etc.
Loved this snip it from your child hood
May More recently posted…Libido ~ we seek it here, we seek it there
I think there’s just something about swinging from trees that appeals to the kid in all of us. 🙂
Ouch!! I was also a Tarzan wannabe. I hurt myself numerous times doing stupid swings, but never quite what you did. I think what got me most about this post was the fact that no one seemed to mention or notice your injuries. That should have happened. You might have been forgiven for the damage to the clothesline, but you should have been tended to.
Collaredmichael recently posted…Memoirs Inspired by the Wind!
Like most parents, mine were ill equipped for the job. I don’t hide the fact that I had a complicated childhood; neither do I wallow in it.
As for the Tarzan’ing (with or without injuries): I’m starting to think that was a common denominator for many of us. 😉
Pingback: Reminiscences: Musings in Memoir -- Prompt #2 ~ Temperature's Rising