My grandmother, a normally staid and reserved widow who usually held her emotions as closely in as her whalebone corset held her midsection, was mounting the stairs in a fury.
Great Day in the Morning! I heard her bellow - there really was no other word for it, shout or scream didn't begin to cover her tone or volume - Who in the name of holy hell set the goddamn lampshade on fire?
I heard the door to my brothers' room abruptly slam shut and the dogs ran for cover as Nana arrived at my room and stood in the doorway, a scorched and blackened lampshade in one white knuckled fist, a rolled up newspaper in the other. The wrath of God was all over her face and I instinctively clutched at the bed covers and tried to flatten myself against the headboard. It'd have been comical except for her rage.
I'll have an answer to this or know the reason why! she shouted at me.
I whimpered innocence, she narrowed her eyes and appraised me, then marched down the hall to the boys' room, a terrifying whirlwind of a woman, too angry to listen. The tiny glass chimes on the lampshade tinkled with every furious step she took and I buried my head in my pillow to drown it out.
You have three seconds to open this door, you filthy urchins! I heard her yell, Otherwise I'll be setting fire to your bare naked butts!
There were panicky footsteps, then the rusty sound of a key in the lock and the soft creak of an opening door.
I could hear her breathing, panting like an old plow horse. There was a short scuffle, the unpleasant sound of glass breaking, then crying. I jumped off the bed and ducked under it, curling myself up as small as possible and cradling myself against the dogs, hoping for invisibility, willing to settle for safety. As expected, both boys were willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that they'd had nothing to do with anything, had in fact spent the entire day playing with toy soldiers in their room, and that clearly I was the guilty one. This came as no great surprise to me - two against one was a popular family game - but Nana wasn't having it.
Is that a fact? she demanded mercilessly, Well, in that case, you'll have no objections to turning out your pockets, now will you?
There was a brief and very leaden silence. She repeated the order sharply, then changed tones and spoke in a quiet, deadly calm voice that made my belly flutter and clench uncomfortably.
I have no problem whatsoever if neither of you leave this room for the remainder of the summer, she said icily, So I'd advise you to tell the truth for once in your goddamn lives!
The youngest broke first, with a gasping, torrent of tears and a sobbing confession of stolen cigarettes and a stash of kitchen matches.
Tattletale! the older snarled at him, Stupid little snitch!
Thief! my grandmother shouted, Liar! She slapped him so hard it sent him careening into the wall and the impact knocked a picture on my side clean off it's hook. Nasty little firebug! she finished and I heard her steps retreat. The door shut with a vicious crack and I heard the key tumbler in the lock grate and click.
The youngest got a week's grounding, the oldest a week for stealing and an additional week for lying and both gave up a month's worth of allowance to replace the lampshade. When my mother protested, Nana wouldn't budge.
My house, Jan, she said evenly, My rules. Jesus H Christ, they could've burned the house down! The only way those boys are leaving that room is if you pack up and go home. I'll be goddamned if I'll have thieves and liars living unpunished under my roof. If you won't teach your children consequences, then I sure as hell will. Take it or leave it.
That particular fight lasted almost three days.
It wasn't our finest hour as a family but there were lessons to be learned. Life is rarely fair, truth comes at a price, violence breeds violence and anyone can be pushed too far, even a generally kind and non-interfering grandmother. No combination of aprons, sensible shoes, silver hair and whalebone corsets make a saint.
I heard the door to my brothers' room abruptly slam shut and the dogs ran for cover as Nana arrived at my room and stood in the doorway, a scorched and blackened lampshade in one white knuckled fist, a rolled up newspaper in the other. The wrath of God was all over her face and I instinctively clutched at the bed covers and tried to flatten myself against the headboard. It'd have been comical except for her rage.
I'll have an answer to this or know the reason why! she shouted at me.
I whimpered innocence, she narrowed her eyes and appraised me, then marched down the hall to the boys' room, a terrifying whirlwind of a woman, too angry to listen. The tiny glass chimes on the lampshade tinkled with every furious step she took and I buried my head in my pillow to drown it out.
You have three seconds to open this door, you filthy urchins! I heard her yell, Otherwise I'll be setting fire to your bare naked butts!
There were panicky footsteps, then the rusty sound of a key in the lock and the soft creak of an opening door.
I could hear her breathing, panting like an old plow horse. There was a short scuffle, the unpleasant sound of glass breaking, then crying. I jumped off the bed and ducked under it, curling myself up as small as possible and cradling myself against the dogs, hoping for invisibility, willing to settle for safety. As expected, both boys were willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that they'd had nothing to do with anything, had in fact spent the entire day playing with toy soldiers in their room, and that clearly I was the guilty one. This came as no great surprise to me - two against one was a popular family game - but Nana wasn't having it.
Is that a fact? she demanded mercilessly, Well, in that case, you'll have no objections to turning out your pockets, now will you?
There was a brief and very leaden silence. She repeated the order sharply, then changed tones and spoke in a quiet, deadly calm voice that made my belly flutter and clench uncomfortably.
I have no problem whatsoever if neither of you leave this room for the remainder of the summer, she said icily, So I'd advise you to tell the truth for once in your goddamn lives!
The youngest broke first, with a gasping, torrent of tears and a sobbing confession of stolen cigarettes and a stash of kitchen matches.
Tattletale! the older snarled at him, Stupid little snitch!
Thief! my grandmother shouted, Liar! She slapped him so hard it sent him careening into the wall and the impact knocked a picture on my side clean off it's hook. Nasty little firebug! she finished and I heard her steps retreat. The door shut with a vicious crack and I heard the key tumbler in the lock grate and click.
The youngest got a week's grounding, the oldest a week for stealing and an additional week for lying and both gave up a month's worth of allowance to replace the lampshade. When my mother protested, Nana wouldn't budge.
My house, Jan, she said evenly, My rules. Jesus H Christ, they could've burned the house down! The only way those boys are leaving that room is if you pack up and go home. I'll be goddamned if I'll have thieves and liars living unpunished under my roof. If you won't teach your children consequences, then I sure as hell will. Take it or leave it.
That particular fight lasted almost three days.
It wasn't our finest hour as a family but there were lessons to be learned. Life is rarely fair, truth comes at a price, violence breeds violence and anyone can be pushed too far, even a generally kind and non-interfering grandmother. No combination of aprons, sensible shoes, silver hair and whalebone corsets make a saint.
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