We had the funeral yesterday. It was delayed so everyone could be vaxxed. It went off nicely, I thought. I spoke, but didn't share this particular anecdote, I going to now.
My father grew up rough. When he was in the 7th grade or so, my dad got pushed into a fistfight with a older boy, a highschooler. The background for this story is very Maine, and very 30s, and I'll skip it.
Dad was scared, but he got a good pop in early and was feeling more confident when one of the boy's friends suckerpunched my dad. He remembered going face down into the dirt, tears starting in his eyes. But he got up again, to find the kids all scattering.
Three or four years past, and Dad was working taking tickets at a movie theater when he spotted the kid who suckerpunched him walking along the sidewalk. He immediately charged over and began punching him, knocking the kid down and working him over until one of my Dad's friends pulled him off the guy. Remembering this, my Dad chuckled a little.
"Dad," I said, "did that guy even know who you were?"
"Well," he replied. "He does now."