Because I Said So

I remember that awful feeling in my stomach when my mother would come storming towards me and I knew I had done something wrong. I usually knew exactly what it was and I also knew not to try to make excuses, or lie, or, heaven forbid, run or even duck! Evasion of any sort seemed to set my mom off. It was like lighting the tail of a fire cracker and thinking it wouldn't explode - useless. Mom expected me to stand there and take whatever it was she was inclined to do. Thank goodness her form of mercy was to be quick about it; no waiting around, or suffering in silence while she pondered the consequences.

Sometimes I didn't know what I had done and then I would really suffer, because I would spend the next few days (and maybe much longer) thinking how unfair it was to be the target of someone's misplaced anger. My mother was the stereotypical redhead with a very volatile, hair trigger temper. Looking back I realize how overworked she was and how ill equipped she was for dealing with frustration, or sadness, but back then I was too young.

I was too helpless too. I wasn't sat down and reasoned with like children are today. My father might have done more of that but he was usually working and too busy to deal with us. Mom's favorite reason was, "because I said so." She had a few quirks. If she walked by me and I ducked, she assumed I had something coming and was happy to provide it. Much of my stoicism probably comes from her. I learned that if I was going to stand up for something, I had better be prepared to suffer for it without moving, or complaining. I think there is an instinct that predator animals like sharks and cats have that some people are born with too. If the prey gets excited, or moves too much, the predator is just that much more likely to attack.

She never broke any parts of us, or me at least. She did break a few antique chairs and glasses and once she threw a glass across the room and my brother jumped up smirking just as it whizzed by. Unfortunate for him because it hit him right in the forehead and he had to have stitches. She felt terrible about that and talked about it for years, but I don't think it really changed anything.

It never occurred to me that things could be any different. We didn't share these stories with other people. Who wants to be shamed in front of outsiders? And it was considered shameful to be punished. It meant I had broken the rules. And suffered some ignominious consequences!

In the end I am probably a better person for all of it. I did not hit my children. I stop and think before I react and I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but I am no push over. I have to watch my words because they can be as caustic as any switch and maybe leave longer lasting welts on the psyche too.

A childhood like that makes for interesting experiences as an adult. I walked face first into a big glass patio door, hit my nose so hard I thought I'd broken it and burst out laughing because my first thought was, "Mom!"