Sista, That Guy’s Always Pickin’ on Me

A Story, For Fun, living



One day, some twenty-five years ago, my little sister ran full-throttle down the high school hallway toward me. Her eyes were wild and I knew someone had been picking on her. Again. Who was I gonna have to push up against the lockers and threaten back? Who was I gonna have to meet out behind the bleachers at a football game and wap-thump?


“Darlene! See that tall boy? That one. No, no. That one, right there. See, him?”




“Well, he’s the one who keeps picking on me in pre-calculus. He is the one who keeps poking me in the ribs. That tall guy. Right over there.”


“Yep, I see him.”


“Well. What are you gonna do about it? He’s getting me in trouble. And you know how I don’t like to be in trouble. Plus, he’s hurting my ribs.”


“Yep. I hear ya, sista.”


Sometimes, okay, usually, all right already, almost always, I went into battle-mode without hesitation. If someone was picking on my little sister or my friends or the defenseless, I defended. And by doggies, I usually whooped ‘em good. Gave ‘em what they were dishing out, only a bigger serving. I reckon that’s what happens when you are raised without a dad. And ya don’t have any brothers. But ya have a fairly feisty mama who never backed down.


But this time, with this tall guy, it was different. One, he was a guy. Up until then, I hadn’t really fought a dude, only girls. Two, he was ca-ute. Tall, dark, handsome, ruddy cheeks, brown curls at the nape of his neck, and twinkling brown eyes. Three, we were on the track team together and I’d probably get tossed off the team if I opened a can o’ whoop on the fella.


I had to approach my sister’s problem with tact and well-thought out, pre-determined plans.


Later that day, at track practice, with sly and cunning skills only comparable to politicians, I stood next to him during stretching. Yes, after I huffed and puffed my way ‘round the cinders for the warm-up laps. Remember how you need a partner for some of those stretches? Someone else hoists your leg onto his or her shoulder and ya lean into it for a hamstring lengthening session. Fun for me as I was limber as a wet noodle, not so much for the tall guy next to me who appeared to be fused tight at all joints; void all signs of flexibility.

I stretched. In cognito. Or so I thought.


“Hey, do I know you?”


“I don’t know (punk). Maybe you’ve seen me ‘round the track and in the hallways (in between pickin’ on my little sista, punk).”

“Oh yeah, you’re the second string guard on the girl’s basketball team. The one with the spiky hair, lines razored into the side of her head, and the who plays with quite a bit of aggression. Yeah, you’re that girl.”


“Yep. (punk, you pick on my sister again and I’ll…)


“Hey, do you want me to hold your leg for the stretch or what?”


(You touch me and I’ll whoop your skinny butt) “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”



And that was that. I took care of that big ole meanie who picked on my little sister. Of course I used the following 4-step approach:



1. Friends

2. Best friends: even while we dated other people, which, in hindsight, seems totally  wa-eird

3. Boyfriend/girlfriend: we held this stance through the rest of high school and partway through college. He was 16 and I was 17 for our high school parking lot first kiss. I robbed the cradle with that one, aye? Whatever.

4. Hitched: otherwise know as married (18 years today, buckaroos).



I keep checking my mailbox for a thank you card from my sister. Haven’t seen one yet. What’s up with that?



At least I didn’t have to bloody this one’s nose…



* Disclaimer: These events are actual-factual. I was not a believer back then. Faced with the same situation today, well, let’s get real, I wouldn’t be faced with the same scenario today, but if I was given the opportunity to stand up for the little guy, those who cannot stand up for themselves, a.k.a. the least of these among us, well, I reckon, I’d do it with love, first. And if the nonsense were right smack-dab in my face, I’d jump in, full-throttle forward, second. The feathers may fly. If you are of the persuasion to turn the other cheek, cast a blind eye, and never stand up for those who really need it, that there is your deal. Mine is different. I’ve got a lot of feisty in me… oh, dare I say “just ask my husband” ’cause I reckon he’ll tell ya. I know it’s not been easy for him to be married to me all of the time (and let’s keep it real, vice versa), but he once told me that the “feisty” is what drew him in. But we both know, it’s been the love of Christ that’s kept us together. The determined, strong-willed, bold love of Christ.


Happy Anniversary mister E!

Best friends forever.

Love ya! .



30 thoughts on “Sista, That Guy’s Always Pickin’ on Me”

  1. pastordt says:

    Happy Anniversary, Mrs. D. Here’s to 18 more (at least) and a thank-you note from that sister of yours.

  2. S. Etole says:

    Are you telling us that marriage is the best revenge?! 🙂
    Anniversary blessings for you and that tall dude … always blessings.

    • Right on. He did the crime, now he’s doin’ the time. (or something like that)

      Thanks for the tweety mention too, sir Glynn.


  3. Happy Anniversary to both of you! You are a wonder of a story teller Darlene. And….will you stand by me next time someone picks on me?

    • Thank you for the story kudos and marital wishes. Just you wait til I tell the story of when my mom tried to set up my sister with him. Yikes. Actually, that’s the day I realized there was more than friendship brewing.


      • Sheila Seiler Lagrand says:

        I read your response too quickly and I thought you were thanking Miss Gretchen Louise for her MARTIAL wishes.

        Which, actually, makes perfect sense.

  4. Happy anniversary to you and tall, dark, and handsome. I bet he never knew what hit him :). Love smacks a wallop sometimes.

      • Miss Ann –
        Thank you for the kudos and you are welcome for the back story. You like my stories and my husband usually cringes just knowing I mentioned him. Poor fella.



  5. Connie says:

    So, I am late on my wishes. Congratulations you two!! Wishing you many more wonderful years together!

  6. Love your story telling ways, lady. You could probably talk about mucking out the barn and it would be a great story….wait a minute. I think you have and it was.

  7. Darlene,
    Little late in getting to this post. Please accept my apologies, but glad I finally did. Easy for me to relate to you seeing as how I married my high school sweetheart as well (although our story isn’t near as entertaining as yours:). Kind of nice marrying someone you know from high school- not as many secrets I suppose. Plus, it really forces you to be who you are and not pretend to be something/someone you’re not. There’s comfort in that for me and Lisa too I think. She knew my family, my grades, my accomplishments or lack thereof. Wasn’t much room for embellishment (until we had kids of course). No we are co-conspirators against them with our hyperbole from the past. Anyway, happy belated anniversary! I promise to be more punctual.

  8. And I get to meet him!! [Assuming he’s home with you now.] What a treat in a few weeks. Makes me rejoicing already! [Had a hunch this was going to be the result of you going to this guy to battle re: your sister. Glad you won, both ways.]

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