Tomboy, Part 3 - The Early Years
by brooksie brooksie@pacificcoast.net
By age 9, she's already beating up bigger boys


Author's Note: I apologize for not presenting this story in proper
chronological order, but I had no idea the character would prove to be as
popular as she has. Thanks for all the feedback. I hope to continue the story
into her high school years at some point but for right now, I thought I'd
offer some insight into this tough little tomboy's development.

My wife's words were weighing heavily on my mind as I walked the dog in

our neighbourhood park.

"You really don't know her at all," she had said, referring to our
nine-year-old daughter. "You can't just coast through parenting, especially
fathers with daughters. It's a tricky relationship. You've got to make a real
effort to establish some bonds or believe me, you're going to regret it later.
Besides, it'll be worth it. She's a remarkable girl."

"You don't have to tell me that," I had protested "she's my daughter. You know
how much I love her."

"Yes I do, but loving her and knowing her are two different things. Trust me
honey, I'm only telling you this for your own benefit. I know how hard you
work and I'm grateful. You're a good husband and a wonderful provider. I
appreciate that you have outside interests and are passionate about life.
That's what makes you interesting. I'm glad you have good pals, I think it's
important to have close friendships outside the marriage and believe me, I'm
very happy that you take the time to keep in shape. But all that takes time
and you've got to set aside some for her. Otherwise, you'll be missing out."

Her remarks really hit me hard. I had to get some air and have some time to
myself to think, so I took the dog for a walk, which needed to be done anyway.
I knew my wife was probably right. She was a very bright woman, fair-minded
and reasonable and had a fantastic relationship with both our daughters. She
was not given to making frivolous remarks. She was a writer and in the habit
of considering what she said before saying it. I trusted her judgement and
opinions. Somehow I seemed to have more time when our eldest daugher was
growing up. I guess it was because I didn't travel as much for work and I
wasn't doing some of the things I do now, like work out. Our older girl was 12
now, and at the age where she didn't want to spend any more time with her
parents than absolutely necessary, so my busy schedule wasn't as big a problem
with her.

We were young parents, by today's standards, so my wife was only 33, two years
younger than myself. I am not a reluctant parent in any way. Having a family
is what I've always wanted. I know I'm a good father in many ways. It had
never occured to me that I didn't really know my daughter until now, and I was
afraid it might be true. Aside from the normal family and school stuff, what
did I really know about her? What was inside her head? What were her hopes and
dreams? I was lost in deep, deep thought, tinged with more than a touch of
melancholy, as I walked along though the park.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sounds of shouting and laughing coming from
a nearby group of kids, who were crowded around a picnic table. I couldn't see
what was causing all the commotion, so I casually ambled a little closer. I
didn't want them to notice me and tried not to look as though I was paying any
attention to them. The dog was leading me in that general direction, so my
movements appeared pretty natural, I thought. As I got closer, I could see it
didn't really matter anyway. No one was watching me, they were all focused on
two kids, a boy and a girl who were facing each other, seated on opposite
sides of the table. The girl had her back to me. Something about her seemed
familiar but I didn't realize until I was fairly close I was looking at the
back of my younger daughter's head. She and the boy had their arms up in the
classic arm wrestling position and were just about to clasp hands.

Startled by what I was seeing, I pulled the dog in close and retreated a few
yards. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but she didn't seem to be in
any danger, so I backed off and waited. The boy looked to be about 12 or 13.
He was tall and on the thin side, but certainly a lot bigger than her. I
thought at first they were just fooling around, but something about the way
the other kids were riveted to the proceedings indicated otherwise. Someone
yelled "Go!" and I saw my daughter's arm harden as she tensed her muscles. I
had always known she was a strong, athletic girl. From the time she was old
enough to walk practically, she was forever doing things like chinups, walking
on her hands etc. She had taken to swimming and gymnastics early on and was a
natural. Even at her tender age, her coaches had talked about her having
unlimited potential, even mentioning the Olympics. She was a muscular little
thing, there was no doubt about it but suddenly I was becoming aware that this
was more than just an athletically-built young girl. For her age, her arm was
actually imtimidating. Her bicep had a definite peak to it and there were
noticeable cuts between it and her tricep. Although the boy's arm was longer,
it was not bigger, maybe not even as big. It certainly didn't show the cuts
hers did. I watched with amazement as their arms wobbled back and forth for a
few seconds before she began to steadily, relentlessly force him down. I was
expecting, because his arm was so much longer, she might lift her elbow off
the table but she kept in planted solidly. I couldn't see her face, but the
boy was grimacing and eventually began grunting, all to no avail. Within a
minute, likely closer to thirty seconds, she had pinned his wrist to the
table. All the girls let out a cheer as she flexed her muscle for them. I
couldn't hear exactly what was being said, as the wind picked up just at that
moment, but it was obvious they were getting set to go again, using their left
arms this time. Suddenly it dawned on me - she was left handed. She's already
beaten him with her weaker arm against what was presumably his stronger,
unless he was left handed too. It soon became apparent he wasn't as she
slammed his arm down in an instant. Again the girls began whooping and
hollering as I watched my daughter keep her opponent's wrist pinned for a few
seconds while she flexed her right bicep in his face.

The girls all crowded around her, clapping her on the back and congratulating
her. The boys were quiet, kind of shambling around as the loser stared down at
the ground, rubbing his wrist. The group seemed to be clustering around a
grassy spot a few feet away from the picnic table. My daughter and the rest of
the girls were already over there and the boys were drifting in that
direction. Eventually the defeated boy got up and joined them. The other kids
instinctively formed a circle around my daughter and the boy. This time, so it
seemed, they were preparing to wrestle. I grew more concerned. Arm wrestling
was one thing, but a full-blown wrestling contest something else altogether. I
debated whether I should make my presence known and put a stop to it, but
something held me back. Since they were ringed by the other children, I
couldn't see as clearly as I had when they were seated at the picnic table, so
I retreated up a small rise to better see over their heads. A tree beside
offered an even more inviting view but I had the dog, so I abandoned that
idea. On their feet facing each other, I could see now that the boy was a full
head taller than her. Still, looking at the two of them, it was obvious that
she had a more muscular look. Her shoulders were as broad and seemed somehow
fuller. They were both wearing shorts and tee-shirts and, as she crouched down
into a ready position, muscles in her legs seemed to appear from nowhere. I
decided to remain unobtrusive for now but I was prepared to spring into action
at the first sign she was getting hurt.

The group got noisier as the girls started cheering for her and the boys were
yelling encouragement to her opponent. The two combatants began circling each
other, neither making any kind of move, then the boy rushed at her arms
outstretched. He was expecting to wrap them around her and throw her to the
ground I imagine, but he never got the chance. I watched in shocked amazement
as she nimbly avoided his charge while at the same time hooking one of his
arms and turning her hip into him. His momentum carried him up into the air
and his feet flew over his head as he landed on his back. She was on him in a
flash and the group crowded in a bit closer. I lost my sight line for a few
seconds. I moved a little further up the hill and when I got them back in my
sight, I could barely believe my eyes. My daughter had the boy in a
devastating combination of holds consisting of a body scissors, a half nelson
and a hammerlock. She had her ankles crossed and seemed to be in complete
control as she kept his right shoulder high in the air with her half nelson
and his left arm pinned behind his back with the hammerlock. I couldn't hear
anything that was being said, the high-pitched screams of pre-teen girls took
care of that. I could see alright, but there wasn't much going on. She looked
secure in her position and the only thing the boy could do was kick his legs
in helpless frustration. They remained that way for a while longer when I saw
my daughter shift her weight slightly, moving so she was leaning further to
his left. Then, with a violent jerk she tightened up the half nelson. The next
thing I heard was another loud cheer from the girls. My daughter released the
boy, who I assumed had submitted, and jumped to her feet, once again receiving
congratulations from her friends as they celebrated her victory.

I wondered if this was the end of it. The boy seemed to be in no hurry to
rise. He remained seated on the ground, bent slightly forward with his arms
clasped around his chest, as if his ribs were sore for being squeezed by her
strong little legs. The boys were standing around him, kind of shuffling their
feet as they waited for him to recover. Meanwhile, the girls were jumping up
and down, talking excitedly among themselves. Some of them seemed to be
taunting the boys, who didn't appear to be saying much. Finally the boy got to
his feet, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his left arm. Apparently she
had really hurt him with her holds. The group of boys and girls began
reforming the circle. My daughter was standing in the middle, looking relaxed,
a big smile on her face. Meanwhile, the boy lingered near the perimeter, his
back to her. He was confering with another boy, as if they were discussing
strategy. Incredibly, it appeared she had this bigger, older boy intimidated.
Actually, maybe it wasn't all that incredible. After all, she had convincingly
defeated him in only a few minutes, not to mention beating him with both arms
at arm wrestling. He slowly moved into the middle of the circle. He looked, if
not scared, definitely uncertain. By contrast my daughter was the picture of
confidence, hands on her hips as she grinned at her friends, who were
excitedly bouncing up and down, shouting encouragement to her.

This time it was she who moved forward towards her opponent. He backed away
from her, causing the girls to squeal with laughter. She continued stalking
him until she got close enough to make her move. Her movements were a blur and
she as she ducked low and grasped one of his legs. She pulled forward and sent
him crashing onto his back. I couldn't follow what happened next as it took
place in an instant. Somehow, she kept his captured leg tucked under her arm,
got hold of his other ankle and crossed it over his trapped leg in a figure
four configuration. She had one of her own legs hooked over his crossed one
and then fell over backwards. I had seen this hold before, but only on pro
wrestling shows and had always assumed it to be fake, but from the way the boy
was thrashing around in agony, it was obviously very painful. This time I
clearly heard him scream out "I give". My daughter untangled her legs from
his, stood up and placed her foot on her victim's chest as she flexed her
arms. The girls cheered even more loudly than before as she posed for them.
She removed her foot and ran over to join her supporters as the boy rolled on
the ground holding his leg and moaning in pain.

I sat down at the base of the tree and absent-mindedly petted the dog as I
reflected on what I had just seen. My nine-year-old daughter had not only
defeated this older boy, she had put on a display of utter domination. Her
skill, speed and strength were astonishing. Where did it come from? I had no
idea where she had learned all this. I looked back and saw a couple of the
boys helping their mate to his feet. He looked unsteady and seemed to be still
feeling the effect of the figure four leglock that had caused him to submit in
mere seconds. I wondered it this was over now. The group of children had
gotten quiet and I could hear my daughter ask the boy if he had had enough. He
didn't answer and she walked over to him. Suddenly, as she got within range,
he lashed out with his fist and attempted to strike her. She managed to duck
and the blow glanced off her shoulder. She stepped back and an intense look
clouded her face.

"So, you want to box? Ok, let's box."

I had been on the verge of running over to protect my little girl but what
happened next once again stopped me in my tracks. She raised her fists, turned
her body sideways and advanced on the boy. Her hands were in front of her
face, elbows tucked in protecting her torso. Before I could do anything, he
put his hands up too and suddenly the fight was on. She moved in, leading with
her right leg, flicking jabs at his face.

His stance was nowhere near as professional looking as hers. His hands were
held up awkwardly and he was not very successful at warding her punches off.
He seemed to be having trouble with her left handed attack.

Once again, I could barely believe my eyes as she was actually backing him up.
Her jabs were getting through and she wasn't giving him much to fire back at.
He tried covering up his face and left his stomach wide open. She reared back
and drove a hard left into his abdomen. His eyes widened and he dropped his
hands to protect his belly. My daughter immediately shifted her attack to his
face and fired a couple more jabs at him, opening up a cut under his right
eye. He stood flat-footed and looked confused for a second. Seizing her
opportunity, she hit him square on the chin with a left hook, snapping his
head back. He covered up his face, leaving his gut open again. She planted her
weight on her back foot and unleashed a wicked uppercut to his stomach that
doubled him over. His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. My daughter
cupped a hand under his chin, tilted his head back. I thought she was going to
hit him again but apparently she decided he'd had enough. She put a hand on
his forehead and pushed him over onto his back. She sat down on his chest and
raised a fist.

"You want more?" she yelled.

"No, no, please don't. I give up."

"Are you sorry for trying to sucker-punch me?"

"Yes, yes I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I apologize. Please don't

hit me."

She slapped him across the face a couple of times and then stood up.

"Get on your knees!" she ordered. He obeyed instantly.

"Now, kiss my feet and show me how sorry you are."

The entire group had fallen silent and I could hear him sob slightly and he
bent over and pressed his lips to her sneakered foot. Once again, the girls
cheered and laughed, teasing the boys relentlessly as they gathered around my
daughter. Then, abrutly, they turned and walked off, leaving the stunned group
of boys staring at their fallen comrade.

I watched the group for a few minutes until I was certain the boys weren't
going to chase after my daughter and her friends. Then I started back towards
home. My wife was in the kitchen making dinner. I hung up my coat and sat
down, staring blankly in front of me.

"What's with you?" my wife asked.

"You're not going to believe what I just saw."

"Sounds interesting. Tell me."

I told her the whole story, leaving nothing out. "I can't believe she can do
that. She just took that kid apart. Christ, she looked like a pro boxer out
there. Where did she learn to fight like that?"

I glanced up and saw my wife had a big grin on her face. "I taught her," she
replied. "A girl's got to learn to protect herself."

I just stared at her with a stunned expression on my face. She giggled and
playfully flicked a couple of jabs at me. I noted the same professional stance
I'd seen my daughter display.

She gave me a mischievious grin and flexed her bicep. "Honey, I think it's
time we had a little talk."