The one Easter morning my family was heading back from church. I was sitting in the front passenger seat dressed in this awful pink oxford shirt with khakis and a grey and lavender sweater vest, my mom dressed in crisp off white poplin dress with a fitted top and flared bottom was driving, and my pissed off jerk of a 18 year old sister was riding in the middle row of the vans bench seats dressed in a denim jacket and a blush colored lace sleeveless dress with a deep v-cut in back and some black ballet flats, hunched over whining in my mom’s ear about going to get her prom dress or something appropriately 18 years old. As we pulled into driveway home, the conversation took a negative turn and my mom got snippy with her daughter.
"You don't gotta be a bitch about it!" my sister said which wasn't too strange given her age at the time. Unfortunately, and unexpectedly, that hit a nerve with my mom and before I could blink *SMACK* Mom straight slapped my sister, backhand Williams sister style which fired Sis up something fierce.
"One of these days I’m gonna beat your ass for that shit!" she spouted off.
“Son, go fetch me and your sister your boxing gloves,” my mom ordered.
“Wha-“ my sister stammered. I have no doubt that she intended to beat my mom’s ass one day she just didn’t expect for that day to be today when they were both in new Easter dresses. I ran into the house to get my gloves and returned to find my sister and mother still in a standoff in the backyard. Sis had shed her jacket and was in the process of tying back her long brunet hair. Mom had deposited her heels on the back porch’s steps with her ear rings and bracelets tucked inside.
My sister and I boxed a bit. When things got nasty between us Mom would have us use the gloves to clear the air. But this was the first time I remember her fighting one of us. I helped Mom with her gloves, small 6 ounce red Everlast gloves. I couldn’t help but compare her to her opponent. Mom was older, obviously, and shorter. Sis was an inch or two taller than Mom already. Mom was fuller in the chest and hips, so I guess she outweighed Sis. Mom had shorter hair; hers only went to her shoulders while my sister had hair that went to her midback, though it was now held back in a ponytail with a white ribbon.
My sister fought me plenty of times before, she didn’t need any help from me getting into her gloves an identical pair of red 6 ouncers. She took up the normal family fighting stance, one glove up high by the face like a boxer, her right was kept low because I was a bit of a wrestler and would try to take my sister down if I was losing the boxing (and often did). With this stance Sis could more easily fight my takedowns, or really load up for an overhand right. Sis had a smug little smirk on her face, like she couldn’t wait to shut my Mom down as she approached her. Mom didn’t back down she walk right up to her daughter and they got within inches of each other.
Both of them were on edge, neither could back down but they seem afraid to make the first move. Then without warning- BAM – Sis struck first clocking Mom with that big overhand right. Mom was rocked, her short brown hair whipped around her head as she staggered back.
My sister wasn’t ready for what she saw next. Mom was shuffle stepping like an old pro- I won’t like I was shocked to see Mom do it- I thought the fight was over before it started. Not a chance.-
"Bitch" Mom hissed *SMACK* and they were even, we could get to Easter brunch now. Not a chance. I realized it was on when I saw Sis had started circling Mom, ready to put a hurting on the old lady, Mom wasn’t backing down she was sticking and moving with her gloves protecting her face now.
In the two to three seconds that they had sizing each other up, my sister thought she found an opening and charged Mom with both fists flying. With practiced skill Mom blocked one shot and slipped the second punch then went to my sister’s belly. Red leather met with crisp linen, of my sister’s spring dress and she gasped for air. Sis went for a big hook and Mom beat her to the punch with one of her own to Sis’s breast. My sister might have been the taller younger woman in the fight, but Mom was "chopping down the tree." She beat on my sister’s body causing her ponytail to dance about her head and for her to stumble around the backyard in her bare feet.
I knew from our spats my sister’s idea of a good defense was good offense, she was flustered by Mom’s boxing, but wasn’t scared, she was pissed. Sis let her best, hardest haymaker after getting Mom to drop her gloves with a feint to the body. My mom didn't even blink at her punch, just unloaded her right hand into my sister’s nose, popping it like a ketchup packet. Red blood dripped onto pink lace. My sister was fighting tears, and I thought now surely the fight was over. My sister was younger, and in all probability stronger, but nowhere near the boxer Mom was.
No such luck for my sister, it was clear Mom was having fun out there administering some discipline on her eldest child. She hit Sis with two more swift jabs before she got her head back in the fight. Since she was losing it on her feet, so she shot in on a single leg, a bit dazed, half -blind and bleeding. Mom was ready for her, she sprawled and started boxing my sister’s ears like crazy. I still remember how hot it was watching Sis drive her legs as she tried to takedown Mom, her poplin dress riding up, now stained with my Sister’s blood. I hopped Mom was going to grind my sister’s face into the ground the way she did to me last time we battled. Mom wanted to finish this thing standing up. She yanked at my sister’s ponytail ripped her off her leg and dragged my sister till she was standing. Then Mom decked my sister right on the chin and she fell to the ground like a puppet that had its strings cut. My mom loomed tall over my sister, ready for her young rival to get up and fight some more, but Sis didn’t move.
Mom poked her daughter with taunting kicks, “You had enough, huh? I thought you were going to kick my ass.”
My sister just sobbed, and Mom needled her again, shoving her muddy foot onto my sister’s lovely pink dress poking her in the ribs. “You still want to fight?”
“Nooo,” sobbed my sister.
“That’s what I thought,” Mom said, she couldn’t help but raise her gloved fists above her head in victory before ripping them off with her teeth and tossing them on the ground beside her weeping foe. “Pull yourself together and get cleaned up.”
Even though I didn’t fight I learned a few things from that incident. 1 Don't call Mom a bitch. 2. Hands up at all times. 3. Love your family, it's much easier on your nose that way.
