Bad Ass Clyde
Bad Ass Clyde was not one to mess with. His favorite saying was, “Don’t even go there!”, and if you did you would be one sorry fella once you came to. Bad Ass Clyde had nevva been bested or lost a fight since he was knee high to a grasshopper. His story sorta goes like this:
Clyde was born the seventh son of a seventh son. Now, that in its self is a profound happening, I reckon. Clyde was small for his age, but his Pa always bragged that “Sumthins good gonna come of that boy!” And right he was. By the time he was nine and had gotten beat up every day by one of his mean older brothers, Clyde had had enough. It was one day in the spring of ’06 when his Pa’s still broke down.
The oldest brother, who always screwed up something, blamed the broken mash pot on Clyde. When Clyde saw his Pa cut a switch from the willow tree, Clyde said, “You take that back, Jake, and own up!” When Jake just laughed, Clyde charged, butted his head hard into Jake’s stomach, grabbed a fire log and slammed into the back of Jake’s head when he was doubled over holding his stomach and barfing up his breakfast – knocked ol’ Jake out cold it did. Pa stopped in mid stride and handed the switch to Clyde. “Well, I’ll be!,” said Pa. “You one little bad ass, Clyde. Here, you deserve to whup him.” Clyde took the switch, thought about it for a few seconds, then tossed the switch down. “Naw. He’s been whupped enough for the day.” And that is how Clyde got his full name.
Throughout his growin’ up years there was always some foolish bigger boy who wanted to pick on little Clyde and rough him up. “Don’t even go there,” Clyde was want to say. Now, if the other boy took that advice, all was well. But, if the bully was stupid, he’d end up in the Granny Woman’s cabin so he could get his broken nose and bruises cared for. “Hmmm … been messin’ with Bad Ass Clyde, have ya?” Granny would admonish.
And that is how Clyde’s life was. Yep, Bad Ass Clyde nevva lost a fight, nevva been bested, could nevva be talked into anythin’ if twasn’t his idea … well … least not till he met Bad Ass Bessie who told him right off that she will go any damn where she pleased. Clyde is now married and the proud father of seven bad ass sons.
© 2017 Phyllis Doyle Burns