Mini, but Mighty!

When I was little, I thought my mother was a giant.  Not like Jack in the Bean-Stalk’s giant…but tall.  Huge.  Grandiose. Larger than life.

She could battle the world with her tremendous command of the English language and with one look…the look, she could conquer the bravest of the brave.  The strongest of the strong.

She went to battle against teachers, principals who had no principles and university teachers, professors and even medical school administration when someone was wrong or overstepping authority in order to protect me and my brothers.  She could be fierce.  But she could be soft, too, when need-be.

Basically, she was my David against a world of Goliaths.  And my brother's advocate, too.

And yet, she was a lady and knew how to have a persuasive conversation, without raising a voice.  Her well defined raised eyebrow was another matter.  I think John Belushi stole that iconic reference from my mother.

Just recently at the gym, a big-shot in Tucson started to bully me and other women nearby. The women cowered.  One cried.

Me…well, let’s just say the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.  I defended myself much to his agitation.  

Unfortunately, the tyrant who looked like Popeye’s Bluto, continued to badger me.  I spoke quietly while carrying a big stick which infuriated him more.

After several rounds with this member, I joined my mother who was talking to another member when Big-Shot comes over.

“What’s your name?” His voiced boomed at me, reverberating in the large work-out room.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m going to report you!”

“You’re going to report me?” I repeated, feeling like I was in a George and Gracie episode.  “You’re going to report me? To whom?  The gym gestapo?” 

Everyone within ear-shot laughed.

Big-Shot fumed, not amused by my silly humor.

“You were rude to me,” he declared.

“Really? What did I do?”

“You didn’t sign in on the board to use the bicycle when I told you to.”

“I signed in after I put my towel on the bike.”

“You’re supposed to sign in first.  That’s the rule.  And you broke the rule.  I don’t like members who break the rule.

 “I donated $250,000 to this building.  I can have you thrown out.  Everyone would believe me because they know I’m right. I’m always right.”

I imagined smoke coming out his nose, making him look like a cartoon dragon. The weird things that pop into my mind always amaze and delight me.

Enter my mother-the peace-maker and voice of reason.

“Who are you?” he asked my mother, ready to take her name down for some unknown gym crime.

“Look, I know who you are,” she said gently. “And I know that you have gifted many establishments with donations which is not only considerate but speaks volumes about your civic responsibility.

“I think there may have been a little misunderstanding.  The young lady over there put her belongings down before signing in.  Really, what’s the harm?  The gym has always been a place where people enjoy each other, respect each other…”

“But the rules have to be followed.”

“And they were, just not in the order you preferred.  We respect everyone’s differences and have always admired your philanthropic work.

“Everyone who knows you realizes the great work you have done for our community and it is very much appreciated.”

My mother could unruffle the feathers of two big birds at a cock fight, making them best friends for life. She stroked Big-Shot’s over-inflated ego and he finally exhaled and resumed working out, puffing his chest out at least an inch with a smirk on his face from the recognition she gave him.

My mother and I gave each other the knowing look. The other gym members were shocked she could appease the Tasmanian Tyrant.  No one ever dared speak to Big-Shot that way…and get her way. Especially a woman.

I glanced over at Big-Shot on the treadmill and watched him scratch his behind and then blow his nose in the provided towel the gym gives us to use.

I think we may need a new gym rule for this:  No blowing one’s nose in the gym’s towel.

My mother was soft-spoken, wearing invisible boxing gloves; she knows how to talk to men with a soft voice, and simultaneously stroke the ego and calm the tempers of angry tyrants. Talk about a world-class diplomat.

She is brilliant.  Eloquent.  Erudite.  That’s her winning combination.  Add Brains and Beauty, too, and what have you got?  A killer combo.

 My mother, a pretty amazing woman.  Whatta Lady!