My mom at her top height was about 4’10”, and it would be a mistake to think her size made her anything but mighty. Corralling six kids on a daily basis gave her nerves of steel, and each one of us can tell you stories of Mom going C.R.A.Z.Y when we were misbehaving. And I use that term loosely because my three older brothers tended to swim in and out of the delinquent pool on a regular basis.
Growing up, they all played hockey. In the burbs of Chicago, hockey is King. Most hockey games can get out of hand, even for the amateurs, and we were watching one rough match when a player from the opposing team shoved the butt end of the stick into my brother’s face. First, that is a low class, dirty move. Second, he broke my brother’s front tooth. We witnessed all this from the stands and my parents were mad as hell. Fortunately, it happened near the end of the game before a major brawl started.
My mom was worried there might be a fight near the locker rooms, so she told my dad they should head that way just in case. As the opposing team started filing down the hall, my mom spotted the tooth-breaking, butt-end-of-a-stick-player, grabbed him by the jersey, threw him against the wall, and went C.R.A.Z.Y. To the point, where my dad had to pull her off and get her out of there before a major brawl started.
The ride home was especially quiet, and the Thought Bubble that hung over every head in the car was some version of, HOLY SHIT!!! WHAT HAPPENED IN THERE??? After a very long time, The Little Boxer spoke with a cracking voice, “It’s just that of all you damn kids, he had the best teeth.”
That was the night I learned the value Mom put on our choppers, and that if you dared to mess up one of her kids, you were going to answer to her.
