Member-only story
No Mother’s Day
Two roads diverged in a wood, and Mom ~ Mom, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.
When I was three years old my siblings, six and eight years older than I, invited me in to my brother’s room. It was a quiet Saturday morning and our parents were asleep. We all knew to stay quiet. My brother had bunk beds and I loved to climb on them. I immediately climbed to the top. My sister was the oldest and generally ran the show. She whispered to my brother and giggled. My brother asked me, “Did you see what’s on the bottom?”
I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Look! Lean over and see!” He pointed to the bunk below.
I bent over the edge of the top bunk as far as I could to see the bunk below. That’s when he pushed me. I hit the wood floor head first. I can only imagine the sound that came out of me, but I know that after a second of being stunned I cried loudly holding my head. My brother and sister started shushing me. My brother felt bad and put his arms around me and rubbed my head. That’s when my mom came crashing through the door like a vicious tornado. My brother dove for the covers and my sister backed up against the wall.
“Shut the Hell up!” Mom yelled and slapped me hard across the face.
