Mommy, You Did What?

Mommy, You Did What?

It was about two weeks before Christmas. Mom and I had an argument the night before.  I wanted to make amends so I called her. As she answered the phone I knew something was wrong. I kept my voice calm asking if she was okay. She'd walk in on some thieves in the house.  I said you did what? She cut me off she couldn't talk; the cops were there to get a report. I said I'd be right home, but my word hung in the air to  the dial tone.

I grabbed my bags, threw a hurried explanation to my coworkers as I ran out the door.  I vacillated between anger and love for my mom as crazy thoughts chased each other through my head on the endless subway ride between the NYC Garment District and Brooklyn. When I arrived the cops were already gone.  I ran to her and hugged her searching her face for reassurance rambling "Are you okay...What happened? She suddenly looked so small to me.

She'd returned from her volunteer work at the church and noticed the front window open. As she got inside she saw a plant turned over and heard stumbling. A man pummeled pass her almost knocking her over on his way out the door.  They were doing some renovation in my apartment upstairs so she grabbed a piece of plywood from near the door and ran after him in time to see another man coming from the basement.  She clobbered him in the head.  He yelped, grabbing his head as he stumbled out the gate.

Mom, you did what?

With that proud tilt of her chin, and a stubborn set of her mouth "that's right, I clobbered 'im in de head. How dare he come in my house?"

I had an immediate flashback of my grandmother beating the guy who tried to snatch her TV-Radio while she watched General Hospital. As she stepped off the bus at Eastern Parkway and Utica Avenue, he rode by snatching the radio. She chased him and beat him down with her pocket book and retrieved her TV-Radio. He managed to escape and ran off leaving his bicycle. She held the bike hostage for over an hour pacing back and forth drawing a crowd of laughing onlookers who mocked the bewilder thief. I could still hear the challenge in her raw Jamaican accent that greeted me as I exited the subway.  The scene I stepped into is seared in my memory.  There was my grandmother surrounded by the howling crowd, feet firmly planted straddling the bike, left hand on hip, right hand pointing from the bike to a trembling thief "A dare yo' come back an' get it."

I shook my head, dragging myself back to the woman before me. "Mommy, you did what?"