Thirteen Going on Twenty

Once when I was a child, I had a disagreement with my mother. It sticks out in my mind because we argued very rarely. Mom was always easy going, laid back and very slow to anger. But this one particular day I pushed the wrong buttons. Funny how I remember that incident like it just happened yesterday and so many other memories have faded to the back.

I think I was about thirteen years old when this incident occurred. I was feeling hormonal, as pre-teenagers can, and I didn't want to be messed with. I rode home from school on an overcrowded bus that smelled of oily, dirty bodies. I felt ill and ill-tempered. I remember slamming through the kitchen past my mother.

"Hey! Would you sweep the floor for me?" she asked me quite cheerfully. She had a way of being annoyingly cheerful, even when you were in the pit of despair. I turned to roll my eyes at her,"DO IT YOURSELF!" When the words left my lips, I realized I had made a mistake. "I don't think I heard you correctly," Mom said cautiously. "I said, 'DO IT YOURSELF'," I heard a voice that sounded like mine say. It couldn't be my voice. I would NOT dare say something like that!

I turned around to avoid the icy glare of Mom's eyes. She didn't say a word. That should have been my clue to duck or run, but I was feeling cocky. I had just told off Mom and she didn't do a thing. "WHAM!!!!!" The stiff bristles of the cornbroom hit me square across the back of the head. "OOOWWWWW!!!!!" I wailed, "what did you do THAT for???" I was incredulous. I was not used to getting corporal punishment dealt for behavioral infractions, that was reserved for my brothers.

My mother calmly handed me the broom, handle first, and quietly said, "Maybe you would like to rethink your previous answer." I took the broom, holding my mother's stare. For a split second I toyed with the idea of seeing what would happen if I again refused. She must have sensed what I was thinking and uttered softly, "Heidi, you are my good girl. Why do you want to upset me?"

Those words hit me like I had been slapped. I jogged myself back to reality and began to cry, "I'm sorry Mom. I don't know why I said that." I really didn't know why I had done that. My mother was my defender and champion. Why I had wanted to rebel at that particular moment was a mystery to me. "It's ok, honey, we all have those days," she said quietly.

Over the years I have thought about that incident and pondered my reason for disobedience. Now that I am a mother of two pre-teen daughters, I see what my mother saw. It's so difficult being a teenager, trying to fit in and find your niche. You are still a child, yet you want to be an adult. On the other hand, you don't want to be all grown up until it's convenient for you. You still need your momma when you are thirteen, even though you don't want to admit it.