Right in the Kisser

My brother and I were sledding down a small slope - more of a knoll - in the backyard of our family's little tract house in St. Louis. He was 4 1/2 and I was almost 3. He was pulling the sled back up and I jumped on. He came to a sudden and jerky stop - his big boy boot buckles jangled one hard time. He turned around and saw my flailing to stay on the slick plastic sled. I stopped rolling around when I realized the sled had stopped moving. I looked him square in the eye and stuck out my tongue. Then he kicked me - right in the mouth. Seven stitches (in my tongue) later and I have yet to stick my tongue out at anyone again.