Benedict Arnold has a sidekick

October 9, 2007
By Christopher Wineland, Warren, OH

As the bus left the school parking lot taking me with it, I was overwhelmed with excitement. My smile stretched from ear to ear, and I could barely even stay seated. Unlike myself, my brother Adam sitting next to me was no where near excited. His pale nervous face produced enough sweat to flood the Golden gate bridge. His palms became clammy and his pants, due to all of his sweat, seemed to stick to the seat. Adam and I were going to have our first school fight! The day before, two kids went up to Adam and announced they were going to beat the snot out of him when he got off the bus today. Being the "brave" and "loyal" brother I was, I felt an obligation to be there to help my brother fight off these two goons. That, and being only five and in Kindergarten I couldn't exactly comprehend what was about to happen.

"You're not going to fight," My brother protested.

My puny voice replied, "I have to, you're my brother! And family sticks up for family."

The bus came to a halt. This was our bus stop. I looked out the window at the two Hells Angels in training. Two tough looking kids with leather jackets and an apparent need to fight awaited their next victims. My brother, not thinking quick enough for an excuse to stay on the bus slowly walked down the isle. Most of my excitement seemed to end. "Taps" played in my head as the students on the bus, knowing fully what was going to happen to us waved goodbye.

Exiting the bus and standing on the ground, where our bodies would be traced, the evildoers stared us down.

"I'll take Adam and you can have this midget over here," One said to the other.

"My brother's not a midget, he's five. Besides he's not fighting!" Argued Adam.

"Yes I am," I stubbornly announced. Then with a sudden burst of bravery, I ran up to the biggest of the two bullies and stomped on his feet, causing his scream to be the fight bell. So the fight began. After noticing that my brothers hands were only being used to slap his own face, courtesy of the bullies, it became apparent to me that I was on the losing side. With the Benedict Arnold side of me taking over, I mentally made the decision to leave the good team and join the legion of the bad guys. In one quick move, I leaped on my brothers back and crazily shook him around like a rattle. My confused brother screamed help, and the once brave bullies backed away in fear.

The good news is, we left the fight alive. The bad news is, I left the fight a betrayer to the family. When we got home my brother made certain not to forget to tell on me. So my dad sat me down in the kitchen while my brother was in the bathroom covering himself with alcohol and band-aids. My Dad looked me straight in the eyes.

"Chris," He seemed to be having a problem keeping a straight face. "You don't "I heard a little chuckle come from his throat. "You don't fight against your own family. If something like that ever happens again, you'll be in the biggest time out of your life."

Then he walked into the other room where I heard a burst of laughter coming from inside. Even though my parents were laughing at the subject, I felt a heavy load of guilt placed on me. The experience taught me patriotism to my family.

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