Olympic Kick in the Face
My house is full of sports. Whether it’s watching them or playing them, there’s always something sport-related happening. When the Olympics roll around every four years, we’re glued to the T.V. Some of the events aren’t a family favorite, so we watch previous ones over again. One of the sports we don’t like is taekwondo, but my little brother Jason started lessons after the last Olympic games and has been waiting for this since then, so in honor of his enthusiasm for the sport, we watched it together as a family.
We gathered around the TV, and while I went to sit down in the recliner, my brother darted underneath me and stole my seat.
“Jason! What are you doing?” I said, almost yelling at my brother.
“Move your feet, lose your seat loser,” my brother winked at me.
“Seriously, get up!” I said.
“No, Amy, you’re not the boss of me!” he yelled as he kicked his leg out to get me off of him.
My brother would do anything and everything to start a fight with me, because he knew that my parents would choose his side. It either his way or no way. He’s always been jealous of me because I’m older and I get to do more things. So instead of igniting his tantrum I gave in and just sat on the floor. As the match started, it was easily visible that this was going to be an intense fight.
Angel Matos and Arman Chilmanov were competing for the bronze medal. With 1:02 left in the match, Matos swung his foot around and was down on the ground, calling a timeout.
“Oh, what is this? Why is he taking so long?” my brother yelled at the screen.
“Calm down, dude, it’s just a timeout,” I said.
“ I know that, but if it's an injury called time-out you can only have a certain amount of time until you are disqualified.” my brother announced to the entire family.
Angel came back onto the floor, but the referee was saying something to him we couldn’t understand. The sports announcers were not saying much of anything either.
“He’s too late!” Jason yelled at the T.V. My brother had adopted the lovely quality of yelling at the tv whenever sports were on at a very young age.
There was an announcement over the continued talking between the referee and Matos. It said something to the effect that his toe was broken, so he couldn’t continue to compete. There was bit of an awkward pause, and then, out of nowhere, Matos kicked his foot straight into the referee's face.
“Did you see that? That was totally awesome!” my brother told us, turning around. “If Matos can kick things when he’s mad, then why can’t I?”
“Where are you going?” my mom asked.
“Mom, I want to be an Olympic athlete, so I think it’s time for me to start thinking like one.” My brother said this with a weird look on his face. “You know what I hate? Cheetos!” my brother yelled as he kicked his foot over the table, knocking the cheetos all over the floor. “You know what else I don’t like? The cat! Here kitty, kitty!” he yelled even louder.
“Do not kick the cat!” our mother yelled.
“Oh, yeah no, I’m going to my room,” I said, leaping off the couch.
My brother was already running up the stairs as my poor mom was chasing behind him. Somehow my dad was still asleep on the couch. When I made it to the top of the stairs, my brother was already in my room. My mom was really trying to call him down. He was kicking and thrashing. He really didn't like me. I guess he was trying to destroy my room, but it just looked like he was moshing with himself.
“Dude, what’s your issue? Can you do this somewhere else?” I asked him.
He stormed out and went into his room, locking the door. I think that's the only time my brother has ever listened to me. My mom doesn’t like locked doors, but he wasn't destroying anything, so she let it be.
Through my headphones I could hear him making his weird taekwondo noises. Every minute or so I would hear another “HAA!” He kept going until I fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, I got ready and went down to eat breakfast, only to see my little brother with his taekwondo outfit on. He was just chilling there waiting to leave. I walked into the kitchen to get some cereal.
“You see what he’s wearing, don’t you?” I whispered in my mom’s ear.
“Yes,” my mom sighed.
“And you’re gonna let him go to camp like this?” I asked.
“What can I do if I ask him to change? He’ll probably kick me,” she whispered back. My dad walked downstairs, saw my little brother, looked at him, and laughed.
“Son, put on some real clothes,” my dad said.
“Father, I’m a soon-to-be Olympic athlete. I’ve got to start thinking like one.” When my brother said this, he didn’t make eye contact.
“Oh no,” my mom and I said in sync, but to our surprise, nothing happened.“One day you will be, but right now you’re a nine-year-old boy who’s going to be late for summer camp,” my father said sternly to no response from my brother. “Why don’t you go upstairs and change buddy?” my father continued, trying the nice approach.
“I’ll be going to camp like this today, Dad,” my brother said.
“Well then, good luck canoeing in that, honey. Pack him an extra water bottle as he may get hot in his uniform,” my father said to my mom.
“You guys let him get away with everything!” I said under my breath.
“Amy he’s a nine-year-old Olympic athlete, what else can I do?” my mom said as she laughed.