In an earlier story I told of a discovery I had made about the accuracy of my throwing arm, and the strange way in which a football had taken flight seemingly of its own accord after leaving my arm, traveling a full sixty yards, and levelling my youngest brother, who had been hiding in tall grass.
With this strange magical ability to somehow control the force of gravity, I vowed never to throw a football at anybody ever again.
I grew up, after about forty more years, and had to deal with grandchildren who were strangely like my two brothers. Constant bickering, outright fist fighting, and trying to control them the same way I had tried to control my brothers.
On one such day, while I sat idly reading a magazine about football, my two grandsons were at it again, picking and fighting as my brothers had done, as the children had done, and here I was again, trying to referee the inevitable fight that always breaks out between brothers of near the same age.
“Here’ you boys stop that!” I said wisely from the comfort of my lounge on the back porch.
They didn’t even slow their pace. They were rolling kicking, grabbing hair, pulling ears without let-up.
Looking to handle this emergency with the least waste of energy, I began to creatively use my mind to find a way to stop the fracas without moving. My eyes lit on an old football that the dog had found somewhere. The leather cover was partly worn away, it was slack, and there it lay within easy reach.
Having learned my lesson from years before with my baby brother, I thought it would do no harm to simply lob the ball about ten feet away to get their attention.
I picked the ball up, carefully aimed it where it would do no physical damage, and lobbed it up in the air like a wounded duck.
Just as i released the football, the older brother, who had been initiating all the trouble, decided to break away and run from his younger brother. I watched the football sail harmlessly in the air as the older brother ran in a direction that would coincide with the flight of the football.
Still no problem, I thought. he would be far out of range when the football landed.
And then a strange thing happened yet again. He stopped, turned toward his brother, and stuck his tongue out, just as the football arrived to make contact with hs mouth and tongue. Neither grandson had seen me release the football, and it appeared from nowhere as far as either of them were concerned.
I never picked up a football again. There are some powers in this universe you just don’t mess with.