Little Johnny Tuttle

Little Johnny Tuttle

Little Johnny Tuttle sat quietly, head hung low, on the same old cottonwood stump. His hunched posture hinted at indifference, but his wide brown eyes converged directly on mine. A dirty, bent finger rose and lifted the brow of his well worn bowler. From below the brown rim, I could more easily see his eyes. Today, there was something different about Johnny that I couldn’t put a finger on. It was an unfamiliar, peculiar look in his eyes. I was puzzled and paused before administering my usual, merciless, teasing and taunting.

But, before I could further assess this new gestalt, he exploded in a blur and a tight fist crumpled my already misshapen nose. The sudden force knocked me squarely to my backside, where I pivoted, spun and tried to regain some balance. As I rose, a well placed heal from an old boot caught me in the sternum and reminded me that I should just stay where I landed. I felt a searing pain as muscle tore from breast bone. A warm fluid ran out both nostrils now and I was dazed and very confused. I suddenly had the distinct impression that I was being taught a very important lesson. And the teaching, it seemed, was coming from an unexpected source. 

Just moments before I had decided to wander over and administer my usually teasing to Little Johnny, as I mockingly referred to him as. I had teased him many times before. I outweighed Johnny by 30 pounds and stood at least 3 inches taller. Everyone knew, on this playground, I was chieftain. Now, I was forced to rethink my position in the playground hierarchy. I found myself on my keister, bloodied, bruised and not oriented enough to stop the continual blows that were landing squarely on my nose, lips and throat. 

Although undeserving, I was granted mercy by the three boys it took to pull Johnny off of me. The four of them rose and stepped back. The entire episode couldn’t have taken more than 20 seconds, but I felt as if I had just spent the entire day on my backside. I gathered myself, angrily, and rose to peer down at Johnny. I realized then, fully, what his eyes had tried to tell me moments before. They spoke to me: “I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m not scared. And, I’m a helluva lot tougher than you.” All of a sudden, 30 pounds and 3 inches became meaningless. Johnny, still silent, took one big step toward me. I stepped back. I shot him a hesitant, nervous grin that he didn’t return. For the first time, in a long time, I was scared. I turned and walked away. I had some thinking to do…

Matt Radford