A Right Cross, With Love

Posted: August 9, 2016 in Inspiration, Life, Parenting, Things I Love

I love my mom. We’ve always had a special bond, and at 91-years young she’s still my Mombest friend. We’ve always been sort of on the same wavelength, and that’s probably because I’m her favorite. On a related note, you might not want to mention that to my sisters.

Want a straight answer? Ask my mom and you’ll get one. She’s always been brutally honest and really isn’t one for “sugarcoating” things. It’s one of the many things I love about her, because what more could you really ask for?

Mom has always loved me absolutely and unconditionally. And she has always, without fail, been there for me. And even when I had no right to expect it, she believed in me.

But that doesn’t mean I was always treated with kid-gloves. Sometimes I was treated with no gloves, which you’ll hear about later.

One summer my mom took me aside and said she had something important to ask me. She then proceeded to tell me she’d been offered the fifth grade teaching position, a class of which I was to be a part. How would I feel about this?

Are you kidding? Having my mom as my teacher? Su-weet! This would be like having a year off! Let’s do this!

She paddled me the third week of school. I mean really paddled me. I’m pretty sure it was 3-whacks. I begged her not to do it, to wait until we got home, to please not humiliate me in front of the class.

No go. She walloped the hell of me. Did I mention it was 3-whacks?

In retrospect I know exactly what she was doing. Number one, I was being an ass, thinking I could take advantage of the situation. I deserved it. Number two, she was proving a point to the rest of the class – everyone will be treated equally.

Point proven Mom! Thanks!

But back to the “no gloves” thing. I was probably, oh, maybe 13 or 14, and my mother was in the kitchen doing dishes. I was apparently in a playful mood, she, apparently not. For whatever reason I got in a boxing crouch and began hopping around her, feigning jabs and hooks, not making contact but coming damn close.

After a minute or so she asked to stop, but I kept it up, even throwing in the occasional uppercut just for kicks. Then she turned around, and as she wiped her hands on a dish towel said this:

“Stop it. Now.”

But I kept it up. Why, you ask? I guess I was just young and dumb. You know, as opposed to now, when I’m old and dumb. For whatever reason I kept it up. Well, for a few more seconds.

I didn’t really see the punch coming, but I’m pretty sure it was a right cross because it connected on the left side of my jaw. The next thing I knew I was flat on my back, knocked out of the kitchen and onto the living room floor.

Mom just went back to drying the dishes.

In retrospect I should’ve known better. Mom grew up on a farm with two brothers. Plus she’s badass, so there’s that.

I guess in today’s world, where paddling in schools has been banned and spanking children is considered barbaric, my mother would be considered a terrible teacher and parent. Hell, she’d probably be reported to the authorities and somebody would have to step in and “save” me. But had they done that, how could mom have saved me so many times in the years to come?

Ha! Save me from my mom? I would have liked to seen them try.

  1. Cindy Chalfant says:

    Great story and tribute to Aunt Kathryn! You know those characteristics are just the Immell coming out of her!

Gimme a holler.

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