Boxers Read online

Third, Scrapple!

  “Scrapple,” you say? Scrapple, I say, a name of honor for the scrappiest kid in the Bumblebee Preschool, who takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’. I’m proud of you, kiddo. Thanks for the best three years of my life (my whole life, ming!).

  Certificate Of Merit

  Presented this 22nd day of May, 1993, to Scrabapple Hirsch of the House of Hirsch for courage and valor in helping Lenny Da Dawg adjust to his new room, and making sure he didn’t wake the Head of the house last night–leastways not more than five or six times!

  Signed, Hammerhead H. Hirsch,

  Order of the Boardwalk Bard

  May 24, 1993

  Dear Scrapple,

  Dad sez, could you puh-leeze not let me into his room after bedtime unless it’s a real “e-mer-gen-cy,” cuz Ant Suzette’s a light sleeper and has to get up early to “work the breakfast crowd” (huh?). “E-mer-gen-cy” includes if you have bad dreams and wake up howling again, but he says puh-leeeze knock first, we must’ve scared `em Big Time when they were wrestling last night, which is why Crepes Suzette fell clean off the bed!

  Love, Lenny B.

  June 11, 1993

  Hel-lo, Scrap, it is I, your new boxer-pup, Howard “The Truth” Cosell–which explains, of course, your dad’s melodious inflection and impeccable diction at this early juncture of our nascent relationship. Yes, Howard “The Truth” am I, a fitting appellation for a truth-telling icon, fitting as well that I should be a boxer, for who, after all, is a more highly regarded boxing expert than I? Who indeed! And who, indeed, is better qualified to fulfill your brother Lenny’s oft-expressed wish for another brother than I, for who but I got along so well with the one, the only Muhammad Ali, so well-matched was I, the world’s greatest pundit, with Ali, the world’s greatest boxer, as to seem to him, if I may be so bold, a fair-skinned Jewish soul brother of the first order. Yes, I am truly an expert in boxing–as in most things; and yet, truth be told, there is one area I have not yet mastered, and that is the art of not peeing on the floor–which is where you come in, my bright young friend! Oh, and there’s one more area of expertise I would be remiss not to mention–and that, my reticent Scrapper, is this: loving kids like you with all my noble heart.

  Yours forever,

  Howard “Da Troot” Cosell

  P.S. Your dad’s impersonation of me sucks, does it not? Can you say “in-im-it-a-ble?”

  October 23, 1993

  Dear Bon,

  No, I don’t think it’s wise for the kid to sleep at your house, separation from parents is the root of his problems. And no, my “Amazonian friend” didn’t “banish” him from my room, she just told him to come back in a few minutes, and his three-year old brain processed it all screwy.

  November 2, 1993

  Lenny,

  Please tell your brother he ain’t a real dog–though if he bites Suzette again, I might have to whup him like one!

  Paw

  P.S. No offense intended to real dogs.

 

  January 14, 1994

  Dear Miss Sharon:

  I assure you, the kid ain’t “self-destructive” in the least! The reason his self-portrait shows his eyeballs sunk at the bottom of the ocean is I’ve been singing “take these sunken eyes and learn to see” to him at lullaby time since he was knee-high to my guitar–and I guess he took it literally!

  Yours sincerely,

  Hammerhead Hirsch

  P.S. You well may see a touch of sadness in those “sunken eyes,” but observe the natural wisdom there, too!

  February 3, 1994

  Dear Miss S,

  When Rex says he’s got two brothers, he means th’ dawgs–which also explains why he sticks his mouth in the snack bowl!

  Yuks,

  Mr. Hirsch

  March 3, 1994

  Dear Miss Sharon:

  I have no idea why Rex says the pup’s scared of me, maybe he freaks when I whomp the heavy bag (I grunt like a sumbuck!). And no, I don’t think that’s got anything to do with the kid scrappin’ (or “acting out,” as you call it).

  Yours, H. Hirsch

  March 3, 1994

  Dear Howard,

  You’ve got to understand, it can be hard living with people sometimes. To be honest, though, for a guy with your brains, I’d have thought you’d have learned not to crap on the floor by now! But I’m sorry I yelled.

  Love,

  Pop

  P.S. Tell Scrapple I’m sorry I yelled at him, too.

  March 3, 1994: Mantra On The Mirror

  Be strong. Be still.

  June 18, 1994

  Dear Miss Sharon:

  On the happy occasion of my son’s graduation, I’d like to thank you for all you’ve done for my Rexness. And thank you, too, for our recent talk. I’ve got the stress well under control with calming herbs and meditation... and no painkillers in weeks!!!. And I’m glad to hear Rex has been mellower with his fellow kidlings lately.

  All the best,

  H.H. Hirsch