WhatFinger


Growing up on the Delta, Dealing with bullies

Sankin’ Lick



I was a skinny, cowardly kid, which worried Jaybird, my mentor and best friend. “Someday, you gwine have to fight,” he warned. “But de way you is now, if you wus to git in a fight — shoot, you’d most lackly be a one-day-old hain’t de nex’ day. I’m gwine teach you how to delivuh a sankin’ lick.”
“What is that?” “When yo’ opponent’s knees turn to jelly and he sanks to de ground, you done delivuhed a sankin’ lick.” The wise old black man set about teaching me something I thought I’d never use. How wrong I was. 

It was a lesson of compensation, of making up for what I didn’t have by maximizing what I did — the uncommon trait of being left-handed. First, he convinced me that when I got into a scrap, my opponent would likely be right-handed, and since Jaybird was right-handed, he’d throw punches at me when I least expected them, stopping his big fist inches from my nose. “Dodge to de left, boy,” he’d say. “Dodge to de left.” His patience rivaled Job’s. 

 That was lesson one. Lesson two was more difficult, mainly because my cowardly instinct would be to flee, not to dodge and punch back. Because Jaybird’s lifetime of self-reliance had imbued him with unshakeable courage and confidence, cowardice was anathema to him. “You gotta dodge to yo’ left and use de hand you know how to use best,” he preached. “When de other boy misses, he’ll be off balance. Right den, you mus’ reach down wit yo’ left as far as you can and throw a sankin’ lick to his face wit all yo’ might.”



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Like a man teaching a dog to fetch, he worked and worked with me. In time, his persistence paid off. Instinctively, I’d dodge to my left as his punches whooshed by. 

 One balmy Friday afternoon, the spring breeze wafting through the school bus windows felt good, as I daydreamed about the next day’s fishing trip with Jaybird. Suddenly, my reverie was interrupted when Butch, the school bully, snatched my favorite cap and flung it out the window … with his right hand. 

 “What you gonna do, Skinny?” he taunted. Trembling, I didn’t dare answer. When I told Jaybird what happened, he grunted, “He ain’t through. Hit’s time fuh de sankin’ lick.”

 He was right. Now that Butch knew I feared him, he shamed me relentlessly in front of our schoolmates. When anger finally supplanted fear, I resolved to take no more. The next day at recess, I stood my ground. Butch took his swing, I dodged to the left, delivered a “sankin’ lick” square on his nose, and left him writhing on the ground, holding his face and bawling like the coward all bullies really are. After school, I raced to Jaybird’s house, savoring each detail of my victory as I described it to him. Smiling proudly, he asked how the fight ended. “Just like you taught me, Jaybird — I delivered a “sankin’ lick.”


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Jimmy Reed -- Bio and Archives

Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.

This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.

Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).


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