As a wee child I recall being on the hot end of one of my mother’s epic scoldings. When the smoke cleared she turned away and went back to doing esoteric mom things. The tiny flame of my rebellion manifested itself in the ugly face I made at her as she left the room. “I saw that!” she announced, not even turning her head, regally continuing on her way. Impossible! What strange ability was this? How could a mere child resist such power?
Years later she would pull this on me when I hadn’t made a face behind her back. Ah! Very cunning Mom. I salute you.
In the early 70s we were stationed in Okinawa. I must have been all of five years old. My mother and I were in a local marketplace buying groceries and such. For a little boy who wanted nothing but to explore the jungle wilderness near his home, shopping with mom was hell. Indignantly, I made my feelings known to all within sight and hearing.
My poor mother was handling more bags than her diminutive Irish frame could possibly bare. Her inability to lay a hand on me was a free license to behave like a truculent snot. Suddenly I was airborne as she soccer kicked me in the behind, leaving my belt around my ears. Okinawan ladies giggled having witnessed swift mom justice executed with extreme prejudice. My behavior was immediately modified.
Enjoy your day of honor moms, and thanks for all the peanut butter crackers!
|For the record, my wife is very skilled at this too.|
Happy Mother’s Day!