The day my mom attacked me with a broom

Mother's Day brings back lots of memories.

I tripped over a broom in the kitchen yesterday and remembered a little incident with my mom twenty-something years ago.

My mom was usually pretty calm, but some things put her into a frenzy. I weighed 180 pounds by the time I entered eighth grade and she gave up on trying to physically punish me. She liked to talk and her replacement punishment was to lecture me. It was an effective disciplinary technique that I dreaded as a teenager. I would have preferred a good paddling and being on my way.

Once in a while I pushed her too far. That was the situation on a spring day after school when I was in Jr. High. I can't remember what I was accused of, but I was probably guilty. I was so guilty that my mom gave up on the lecture and chased me upstairs to my room with a kitchen broom. She was pretty upset. There was rage in her eyes. The amazing part was that she chased me up the stairs and managed to grab a broom on the way faster than I could get in my room and lock the door. She must have been skipping stairs.

I was nervous about being hit by a broomstick so I took a safe position on the far side of my bed. That's when she decided to try to knock the model airplanes off my wall with her weapon.

I spun around the end of the bed and grabbed the broom. She was hell-bent on getting it back so I broke it in half with my knee. For some reason, at the time, I thought breaking the broom would save the models, even though they were low enough to be hit without a weapon, and she was just bluffing. Lucky for me she switched focus from the models to the broom when it split in half.

"That's it! I've had it. You are buying a new @#$%&* broom." My mom was only guilty of swearing while brandishing a weapon. I can't remember her ever getting mad enough to swear at anyone but me. I have that effect on women.

The models were safe that day and I did end up buying her a new broom. It was a nicer one than she had before and it came with a dustpan. I felt bad for driving her crazy.

In spite of the battles and the rough patches, my mom and I were always very close. She was usually awake when I got home and we would often sit and talk for hours.

Now I live twelve hours away and we still talk on the phone for hours. Now she laughs at me when I am in a rage for something my kids have done. There is a hint of reserved, "You deserve it," in her laugh. I probably do.

Thanks for putting up with me mom. I love you.