Broken From The Pressure

In my family...

We wrestle and box.

It was a major part of our up-bringing.

Dad tripped us, brought us down, and tickled until we couldn't breathe.

Mom was quick...

And rugged...

A force to be reckoned with.

And one day...

My little brother's day of reckoning came...

It came up behind him...

In a moving vehicle...

My dad, stayed on the road perfectly while the brawl ensued.

You learn those skills of stability under pressure in the National Guard.

I photographed every maneuver from the neutral corner.

Every swing...

Every block...

Every jab...

Every covering...

Every counter punch...

Every foul...

Every weaving...

Every clinch...

Every block...

I had the best seats for each bout.

And THEN!...

And T-h-e-n...

She HAD HIM!

She really had him.  I mean, she 

Really

Really

REALLY had him good.  Both hands clamped against his nose and mouth.  His head locked into the headrest.

He panicked.  Both legs pressed into the windshield.

She cut him a break and release her prisoner.

"Look!"  He shouted.  "Oh, my gosh!  LOOK at the windshield!!"

If you look closely, his foot cracked the windshield from the immense pressure of his desperation while out of oxygen.

And then, they started all over again.

It's what we do.

Did you know I have pink boxing gloves AND a mouth piece?  I plan to pass them down.

Live from the ring, 

D-Lowe