In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.” Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?
There is absolutely nothing more infuriating than a 16-year old son. I have no idea what finally flipped me over the edge. I remember yelling, “That’s it, you’re dead!” and taking off after him through the dining room, across the living room, and finally backing him into a corner in the laundry room. He was laughing while I was furious.
I advanced slapping any portion of his unprotected anatomy I could reach. He was about six inches taller than I.
“You will not talk back to me.” (slap on his shoulder)
“You will not make fun of me.” (slap on his chest)
“You will not laugh at me.” (slap on his other shoulder)
“You will show me respect.” (slap on his hip)
“You will pay attention when I’m talking to you” (slap on his stomach)
“You will speak to me in a civil tone.” (push with both hands on his chest)
That last one got him. He grabbed my wrists and collapsed against the wall laughing. “A civil tone? A civil tone? You’ve been reading historical novels, haven’t you?”
What’s a mother to do? I began laughing so he apologized, we kissed and made up.
But that tirade twenty years ago did the trick. He phones me almost every day to ask, in a civil tone, what I’m doing and if I’m OK. And, we always find something to laugh about.
Someone raised him right.