my mother throws
the wet headed mop at him,
expecting him, nimble and atheletic
to jump over it
but it hits his calf
and ankle with
a sickening crack
and he falls
like tree felled in a storm
as he hits the too long green grass
there is a wet thud, thud.
then a momentary silence
striking in it's completeness
so profound, it is almost zen like
broken by the high pitched wail
as the pain receptors in my brothers brain
kick in to high gear,he writhes on the ground
my mother hovering over him
repeating this mantra
"you were supposed to jump!
you, were supposed to jump"
he was foueteen, the local sport star
arrogant as only teenagers can be.
she would have been middle to late forties
a single parent having worked a double shift
I cannot remember his infraction,
there were; oh, so many
but still 38 years on
I can feel the silence
so absolute....
and hear the mantra....
you were supposed to jump
you were supposed to jump
My mother to my recollection only ever twice lost the plot in anger....this was one of those times....as I say I have no recall of what my brother did...
My mother worked hard and was a good mother...and father to us...
I write this today...because I found myself un a similar situation...
not that I was violent toward my child
but that I was so blindingly angry that I could have been.
As to why that is another story entirely. Suffice to say youthful exuberance, and no fear, can be a mix that makes Momma mad.....
My brother was bruised by the mop handle, every body carried the shock of that moment with them for a good many years....My mother apologised profusely to us all for her loss of control....and I think that was when we as children had that epiphany children have...that parents are humans too with strengths a d weaknesses.
As a child I was in awe of the monentous nature of that moment, as an adult I do not condone the violence within it, but after today...I may have a better understanding of it