No Peanut Gallery
They'd all started learning some kind of self defence early- the sons of a famous man, then a famous and rich man needed to. When they were little it was mostly along the lines of 'scream, bite, kick, go for the eyes and run'. The more technical and dangerous stuff came later, when they were old enough to be responsible with the knowledge.
Alan's first lesson had been quite memorable and the reason for a sign that read 'No peanut gallery when sparring'- hand-lettered by Virgil and hung with care on the wall of the gym.
Alan had been seven- bright eyed, nervous and eager to please, facing off against Scott under their father's watchful eye. Both brothers were barefoot, lightly dressed in shorts and singlets and wore boxing wraps and head protection. Scott also held a round boxing punching pad to catch Alan's hits.
"Okay Al," Dad had instructed, "let's see what you've got. Try to punch Scott."
He'd looked up at his big brother with wide eyes, unsure, but Scott had grinned and reassured Alan that it was okay. Thus comforted Alan had begun, throwing flailing punches that Scott blocked as they shuffled around the mat. His confidence came up as he became more comfortable with the exercise, his lightning quick reaction times making Scott both grin and hustle to keep the punch pad between him and Alan.
Virgil had called out encouragement, John offered the occasional instruction and Gordon, being Gordon, stirred the pot as he normally did when his brothers were sparring and yelled 'kick him in the nuts!'
No one was quite prepared for it when Alan, startled by the shouted instruction and wanting to please, did just that and Scott crumpled with a squawk.
Alan panicked, Virgil and John burst into peals of laughter and a white faced Gordon vanished.
The lecture when Dad finally tracked him down was one for the family history books and the sign went up the next day.