Little Richard (Sr.), the coolest little brother you could ever imagine!
That's Richard Gobbels Sr., by the way.

It must have been just about the summer '66; I was allowed home again after spending the year in a live-in Catholic school in Tampa.*
Mom and Rich lived in a whole new place that I'd never seen before at 13th ave and 16th street in St. Pete.
Across the street was the Woodlawn Youth Center, (I think that was it's name.)

As usual in a new area we had only each other.
We didn't know anybody else, and we weren't always popular.
Well, I wasn't: Richard may have been more likable on his own, but that's another story...

We had a pretty goody yard, we even had orange trees.
We had a garage where we had a ... well, that's also another story.

Can you believe it?
Mom bought us BOWS AND ARROWS!
I mean, arrows with sharp metal points!
Can you believe that?
It was so freaking cool!

Well, we got to shooting this, and we got to shooting that, and we got better and better.
We started shooting oranges out of the trees, then it became not acceptable to hit the orange, you had to cut the stem!
God, we were having a blast!
Then we went across the street to this b-i-i-i-g-g-g lawn at the youth center and began shooting longer distances.
We stood at opposite ends and shot near each other so we wouldn't have to chase the arrows.

We shot closer and closer to each other, until it became a dare: "Who would move first!"
Or we would shoot the arrows up into the air and catch them as they came down.
We're about a 100 yards apart, firing in a high, curving shot, and seeing how close we can come to each other before one of us will give up and move.
Got that?

Listen, I'm 6-years older than Rich.
I'm about 14 and he's about 8.
I shot one way too close.
I mean way too close!
I began hollering for him to move.
I panicked.
He calmly stood there, until the arrow missed, and hit the ground.
He smiled in joy and grabbed an arrow to string  it and shoot back.
"My turn," he happily called.

"Stop!
I quit!
You win!
Stop!"

I wasn't playing anymore.
When I got up closer and checked him out...
He had a red line on his ear from the feather on the arrow!
How are you going to beat that?
That little fucker never moved or flinched.
Are you kidding me?
This, sharp, pointed, metal-tipped arrow, is headed straight for his forehead and this kid never moved.

Want another cool one?
Did I mention that my arm hurt?
That bowstring always stroked the forearm when it fired.

Well, one day we heard that Woodlawn Youth Center was having Archery Instruction.
Freaking cool!
We signed up.
We're going to find out how to prevent this.

Well, we get there and we sign up and we're standing outside in front of the targets with the class when the instructor starts telling us how hard it is to hit the target even though it looks simple.
He picks Rich to demonstrate, after all, Richard is the smallest guy in the class!
Rich nails the bulls-eye!

The instructor comments about "Lucky shot" and tells Rich to try again, (with a smirk.)
Little Rich NAILS that sucker again!

Man, this guy gets upset!
Thinks he's being fucked with and asks Rich, "Who taught you to shoot!?!"
Rich points at me and says, "My big brother."

We were out of that class so fast our heads were spinning!
God, it was freaking hilarious!

P. S. We never did find out how to protect our arms from that bowstring.
But, yepper, I swear to God, that's a little brother you can be proud of!



*Mary Help of Christians" the only Catholic school that had Brothers and Fathers running it instead of nuns.
Man, I'll tell you stories about it sometime!