The Punch (1984ish)

Now that I think about it, my dad was always my hero.

I know that sounds trite. A cliche. But I remember thinking and saying to him that with his glasses on he looked like Clark Kent and with them off he looked like Superman. I also used to think he looked like the actor Roger Moore who played James Bond, but I don’t think now that he really did. I suppose back then I thought he looked like all the heroes of the day. At a push I’d say he had He-Man’s haircut but that’s not much of a compliment.

Anyway, my dad and I used to do this thing where he would say, “Go on. Punch me as hard as you can!” and stand with his hands on his hips (the classic ‘Superman pose’) while I (at the age of 7) would make a tiny fist and punch him as hard as I could in the stomach.

He didn’t even flinch. I was amazed. He really was Superman.

Until one day when we were at my mother’s cousins’ farm (the Kosters - they bred horses) and a group of us was standing looking out at some horses running in a field. I can’t remember if my father was standing with his hands on his hips, but I saw him standing there with his belly exposed and I made a tiny fist and hit him as hard as I could in the stomach.

What I had never realised before was that my dad would (obviously) flex his stomach muscles so that the small punch from my seven-year-old fist wouldn’t even register.

But today he wasn’t prepared. Today my tiny fist slammed into his stomach and knocked the wind out of him. He folded over wheezing and everyone turned around to see what had happened. I don’t know what they must have thought. That I was some violent child psychopath, probably.

I don’t think we ever played that game again.