My favorite childhood toy

Quickly, I jab with the left and punch him squarely in the shoulder. He counters, but he’s not strong enough, I throw a one-two punch and stun him into silence. Just as his hand comes up to connect with my jaw, my fists fly into a flurry of punches and jabs and suddenly – his head pops off.

I am “The Red Rocket”.

My opponent, The Blue Bomber, otherwise known as my sister, sits defeated. She knows the odds are against her. But she likes to play the odds.Sitting up straighter in her bean bag, she cries for a re-match.

“Two out of three.”

In the corner of our wood-paneled, shag carpeted basement, sits the long forgotten game of Pong. All the focus is on the ring of our Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots.I, The Red Rocket, am up for the challenge. Afraid of no one, especially The Bomber.

I roll my shoulders back, get a nice loose grip on the joystick and start the countdown for the match to begin. “Let’s have a good, clean fight.” I say. My sister cocks her head and tells me to shut up.

Suddenly, I’m hit. I never saw it coming. Checking to make sure I still have my head, I let loose a barrage of punches and counter attacks. Sweat pours down my nine year old face as I try to keep my head on. My sister, older and therefore used to winning, begins to smile.The bomber hits with such a force that my hand shakes from the impact. I’m still upright and still in the fight, but I fear it’s not for long.

Sure enough, The Bomber sneaks an uppercut into the melee of arms flying and I watch horrified as my head flies to the side of the ring.

I’m down.

I’m out.

But, do I give up? Does that dissuade me enough that I’d throw in the towel and go play with my Barbie Dolls and EZ Bake Oven?Never! Vengeance would be mine.I slowly lock my head back into place and say those important words.

"Two out of three.”