Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, July 21, 1994 TAG: 9407280019
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Beth Macy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
And then as he lies there wincing, helpless on the carpet of their South Salem living room, she stomps on him.
Should he grab her purse or backpack, she knows how to turn it into a weapon.
Should he wander into her bedroom or snoop in her diary, she knows exactly how to turn his thumb, turning him into a blubbering beggar of mercy.
Lindsay Lewis can make you say ``uncle.'' She could have you calling out for your mom, your dad, possibly even your dear aunt Grace.
She's 13, an eighth-grader at Andrew Lewis Middle School, 5 feet 2, 120 pounds.
Her brother Jimmy is 15, a sophomore at Salem High School, 5 feet 9, 160 pounds.
Actually, they get along quite well - considering they are related teen-agers living under the same roof, according to their mother, Carol Lewis, a single mom and secretary for the Roanoke County police department.
``I'm glad she can fend guys much bigger than her off,'' Carol says. ``I mean, the way kids will fight these days, or use drugs - you can get into a situation where you're not dealing with a normal human being.''
That's the message the Lewis duo tries to get across with their brother-sister fights: self-defense, discipline, concentration, control.
While their mom simply wants them to be able to protect themselves, these teens, students of the Ameri-Kon school of karate, see their sibling spats as a public service. They demonstrate for groups how to become more alert to dangerous situations and how to remain calm in stressful situations.
``It's important to be able to protect yourself,'' Lindsay says. ``At school sometimes, it seems like the discipline has no effect on students, that they have no respect for authority.''
Jimmy - who can break a stack of three boards with his bare hand, prefers drinking skim milk over Coke and thinks nothing of dropping to the floor for a quick 200 sit-ups - is not exactly the older brother you'd want staring you in the face ... say, if you were arriving to pick Lindsay up for her first date.
``I feel good'' that she's learning karate, he says. ``Because when she gets older guys will try to mess with her. And if it comes to that point, it's good she's not helpless.''
Dating age, by the way, isn't allowed for three more years - at least according to Lindsay.
``I told her, more like 38,'' her mom deadpans.
An ancient Japanese art, karate is the Eastern version of self-defense. Now experience the Western version.
Western Virginia, that is.
Swimming holes, movie rentals.
When Todd Jennings' cousin Laura brought her obnoxious, city-slicked boyfriend from Ohio to Hillsville last year, the Jennings family served up what they now call ``Yankee Salad.''
They pointed to a patch of Indian turnip, also known as jack-in-the-pulpit. They described how the Indians ate it cooked, but that eaten raw it turns the tongue and mouth into a proverbial pincushion (the root contains large amounts of oxalic acid, commonly used in bathroom cleaners).
``The sensation is like Novocain gone horribly wrong,'' Todd explains. ``No amount of milk, water or beer will deaden the pain.''
After Jennings explained the plant's potency, the cousins gingerly nibbled a sample. But the eager boyfriend flexed his muscles by tearing into a huge chunk of the stuff, chewing it up and then swallowing.
Everyone cringed, especially the old-timers - who just stood there, arms folded and eyebrows raised.
In about a minute, the boyfriend admitted, ``Yeah, it stings a little.''
In about three three minutes, the boyfriend could no longer speak. He simply drooled, eyes teary and jaws puffed.
``Although time is supposedly the only cure, my brother discovered a remedy. He assumed that since tobacco takes the sting out of bee stings, a dip of Skoal should cool the hapless varlet's tongue,'' Todd recalls. ``Lo and behold, the pain soon subsided, and history was made.''
Jennings - fearing retaliation - avoided both cousins and cousins' boyfriends the rest of the visit. But when the gang returned to Hillsville last March, Todd's brother took them some vegetables for their stew.
The boyfriend wisely swore that he would eat no Western Virginia vegetable unless it was cooked first.
Bring on the hamhocks.
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