A Fight Worth Losing

Morison Foun set a farmers field on fire while performing one of his famous stunts. Afterwards he refuses to accept responsibility and is offering to instead make a 'charitable donation' to the farm.

Nobody can quantify what it means to be a hero. This man, he had crossed over five hundred miles of the Great Basin’s dessert with nothing but a pocket knife and water-bottle. He had swam the entire length of the Mississippi River. He’d even climbed Mount Everest with nothing but a pair of jeans, a windbreaker, and his bare hands. His accomplishments could be sang to the heavens, but that didn’t make him a hero. Every great feat he had performed had been done for himself; to further his own name.

Two steps in the other direction I saw my father. A man that couldn’t make it across a swimming pool without putting his feet down, couldn’t go more than eight or nine hours without a glass of sweat tea, and was winded walking to the end of our driveway in Kansas. On the plus side, Dad never did anything for himself. His every action was for his family. Sacrifice was just a part of life to him; he was my hero.

The two juggernauts stood facing one another; their eyes locked in a contest of prideful champions. Dad’s hands were loose at his side, relaxed despite the tense situation. Morison Foun contrasted sharply with one hand tightly clutching a jumbo sized check written out to the tune of $15,000 and the other balled into a fist. I was on the front porch watching the scene unfold and behind Morison five other men had crawled out of the elongated press van that followed his Porsche down our dusty driveway. They were all loaded down with cameras, microphones, laptops, and all other varieties of tinfoil reflectors and cords.

“What?! I took the time to fly myself all the way out here to charitably donate to your farm an-“

                “Shut-up.” Dad cut him off short. “If I thought that you were offering me that as just compensation, it would be different. But you’re not. All your trying to do is save face, and pay me off in the process.” My eyes drifted away from the pair for a moment, looking out across the barren field where our corn had once grown. The ash had mostly worked its way into the soil, but the land was still scarred, useless until the next growing season.

                Morison raised the check up till it was level with his waist. “Just compensation! It’s not my fault if you didn’t do your job! Maybe if you were a better farmer you would have corn! All I want to do is help you out, give you something to live on, feed your poor family!” He spoke indignantly. The pretentious b*****d still refused to admit that one of his stunts had started the fire.

                He was right about one thing though, we were poor. Kansas corn farmers can’t afford lawyers like Morison’s.

                Neither man had broken their stare-down. Father’s eyes were beginning to water, and Morison was visibly fighting with a drooping left eyelid.

                “I’m not in the business of accepting charity. Now get of my lawn.” I wondered if it wouldn’t be better for us if he’d just accept the money. It had been a bumper crop before it burned. As was still the case for all of our neighbors. What little corn we had left wouldn’t bring nearly enough to keep us fed until the next harvest.

                Despite himself, Morison finally gave in; his left eye closing all the way quickly followed by the right. Now he was mad. The man had climbed Everest without so much as a tooth brush, he was not keen on losing anything to a cornhusker. “You don’t get to tell me-“

                “Again, shut-up and get out. That’s warning number two. After three I have the legal right to move you myself.” It was amazing how calm he sounded. He was threatening the only man on the planet who had become famous simply for being a badass and it didn’t phase him at all.

                One of the cameramen twisted his wrist frantically as he zoomed in on my father’s face. Morison himself just shook his head. “You, move me? I’m here trying to do something nice for you and you’re threatening me? That’s not ve-“

                “Alright, this is number three. You were warned, not threatened. Now I’m going to walk into my house, I’ll be gone for round and abouts of two minutes. When I come back out, you should be gone.” Morison’s face was turning a bright shade of crimson. He didn’t like being ordered around, or being interrupted for that matter.

                A man of his word, dad strode past me on his way in the front door. Suddenly I found myself alone with Morison and his camera crew. The man’s eyes lit up as a lightbulb flipped on and he seized control of the situation. “You there, your father is a proud man. I can respect him for it, but it is a foolish pride.” He paused dramatically, looking me up and down as if deliberating on whether or not I could be trusted. “What are you, fifteen? Sixteen? Old enough to make the right choice I think. Take this from me, cash it at the bank and feed your family. He’ll thank you later.” Morison brandished the check in my direction. Shoving it into my stomach.

                My reaction was automatic, instinctual. I took the check from him, then lifted it with both hands; making sure that the camera men had me in their sights. I slid my hands to the center and tore it in half. Tossing the two pieces back at Morison, I turned and walked into the house. Dad was not in sight, but I knew where to find him.

                I made my way through the kitchen and into the narrow hall that led to the master bedroom. As I suspected, he was rummaging in the top drawer of his dresser. “Pa, no. You can’t just shoot the guy with all of those camera’s around.” He didn’t stop digging. “Come-on pa, they’ll lock you up if you so much as poke the barrel of that thing out the front door. We’ve seen the lawyers this feller has gotten.” I was starting to panic, my voice climbing up an octave as I spoke.

                Dad straightened up. He stood tall, his broad shoulders between me and the gun I knew was in his hands. “Now boy, I thought I’d taught you better than that.” He spun on his heal, giving me view of his hands as he pulled on his thick leather gloves; the pair he wore when he was out in the cornfields. “I’d never pull a gun on an unarmed man.”

                I gawked at him as realization dawned on me. “Pa, that’s an even worse idea!” I was talking too loud.

                A hard glint came into his eyes, “And why is that?”

                “Because you’ll lose!” I said incredulously.

                He smiled, but the fire didn’t leave his gaze. “I know, but that’s no reason to back down. I’ll lose a thousand times before I let myself be bullied by a man’s name.” With that he left, patting me on the shoulder on his way by.

                It took a moment for that to sink in. I didn’t move for some time. The power of my father’s will held me rooted to the spot, unable to leave until it had gripped me in its intensity. When it finally had me completely intertwined I turned and made my way back to the front porch.

                By the time I got there the fight was over. Morison was walking back to his car; dad was laying in the yard, his eyes pointed towards the sky with blood streaming from busted lips and a deep cut above his right eye. His chest rose and fell in harsh breaths; taken as he tried to get his wind back. Despite it all, I had to smile. He may have lost the fight, but he had nothing to be ashamed of.

                “Mr. Morision!” I shouted as I stepped passed my father on the ground. Morison turned, looking excited, as if he thought I might have reconsidered taking the money now that I had seen my dad lose. A cocky smile crawled across my face, I hoped the camera crew would capture the look on his after I enlightened him. “You are only halfway done here; didn’t anybody ever teach you to finish what you started?” I was close now, within an arm’s length.

                The first and only punch that I landed came from the hip. It was a wild haymaker that would have put a normal man on the ground. Morison Foun was not an ordinary man, but it felt good to see him stumble. He had climbed Mt. Everest, swam the Mississippi River, crossed the Great Basin, and torn down my hero. But I made him bleed and that was enough to placate the pride of a poor Kansas corn farmer like me.

Author's Note

As always, any and all feedback is great. Whether you prefer to review or critique, I appreciate it all.

Reviews

[Kajsa Williams]

A very critical message in this time when celebrities and the super-rich view working class people as a nameless, replaceable herd. Telling it through the son's eyes was a great way to show just how much this farmer actually had-- the love of a well-raised, loyal son and personal dignity. Kudos for choosing the perfect narrator to tell this story.

[Kajsa Williams]

A very critical message in this time when celebrities and the super-rich view working class people as a nameless, replaceable herd. Telling it through the son's eyes was a great way to show just how much this farmer actually had-- the love of a well-raised, loyal son and personal dignity. Kudos for choosing the perfect narrator to tell this story.

[AJNJ]

He was a hero in so many ways. Having instilled good values in his son, he created yet another hero for the world. The torch would be kept flying high. Of uprightness and fearlessness in the face of the most daunting adversary. He lay there bleeding and yet a winner as his son finished it for him. He had the last word there. I enjoyed this story very much!

[James Foley]

Very fine story. Keep up the good work. James Foley

[Chloie Kato]

This is so beautiful! The concept of the hero in the eyes of a teenager shaped by his father's way of life was nicely brought out. The theme of integrity was so strong. I like how the concept of hero was maintained by the father being used as the prime example of integrity in the story. Your protagonist and his father become extremely likeable because of your very clever choice of narrative point of view. The reader has no choice but to look at the father with the same respect and adoration that the boy does, and thus the ending of the story becomes extremely satisfying, not just to the narrator/protagonist but the reader as well. Brilliantly executed. Loved it!!!!!

[Sarah Wilson]

I really like this its easy to read with great flow and does a good job painting the picture. Plus im from kanasas so i may be a little biased. Litterally the only thing i could single out is just nit picky (i thought you used the word poor too much) i would read this if it were a book. Its a great coming of age in the country peice

[Cherrie]

I'm sorry more people didn't find this gem.

[Ian Reeve]

This is a great little story, I enjoyed reading it. I saw one error, where you say 'Two steps in the other directed I saw my father'. I suspect this is down to an autocorrect feature of your word processor, putting in the word it thinks you wanted. The same thing keeps happening to me and only careful proofreading can root them all out. I look forward to reading more of your work.