Toughen Up (part 1)

     "We just wanted to toughen you up".  That's the justification my sister Christine would use whenever she'd make the case that the physical assaults inflicted upon me growing up were in my best interest.  Her reasoning?  It was the responsibility of she and my four other sisters to help raise more of a GI Joe than a Ken doll.  So whenever she deemed necessary, or even just for fun, Christine would full-fist me, leaving a red, four knuckle imprint upon my arm or leg.  The fifth knuckle never seemed to make an impact, simply because the girth of my arms and legs was smaller than my sister's hand.
     As a frail six-year old with legs the size of wiffle bats, Christine decided one particular day I was in need of some toughening up.  So, while I was innocently petting our dog Duke while we both lay on the floor, she punched me unexpectedly in my upper wiffle bat--hard.  So hard that somehow the pained traveled from my leg all the way up to my brain, causing me to pass out.  I regained consciousness a couple minutes later, with help from the cold, kitchen faucet water Mom typically doused me with whenever I knocked myself out falling down the stairs or running into a wall.  I'm not sure if Christine was ever punished for this unwarranted assault on me that day.  I doubt it.  But I guess it all turned out for the best, making me tougher than I would have become otherwise.  I never became a GI military man, nor did I even own a GI Joe doll.  But I did on occasion enjoy popping off the heads of my sisters' Barbie dolls or using them as target practice for my dart gun.  That's gotta' count for something.