My Mom, the Gunslinger
It sounds a little contrived, but my siblings and I really hit the jackpot with my mom. She’s funny, she’s warm, she’s unbelievably kind, and incredibly empathetic. Even when she is angry, it’s adorable. She’s the kind of mom that my friends will go visit even if I’m not around. I can’t think of a single person that doesn’t like her. I don’t know how my brother and sister and I turned into such jerks, really.
If I had to pick a favorite memory of my life thus far with my mom, it would prove pretty difficult. Rollercoasters at Disney World. The airboat ride in Kissimmee where we all got soaked. Going to Charlottesville for One Act Play state finals. Really, I could go on and on, remembering.
But one memory consistently sticks out in the heads of my sister and I. Our brother either didn’t exist, or was an infant, but I guarantee if he were older he would remember this as vividly as we do.
Susie, Get Your Gun
In the very early nineties, our family lived in a house out in the middle of nowhere in Warrenton, VA. Our property had turned into a sort of little farm, complete with a big red barn and all the livestock our little minds could handle. At one point there were ducks, chickens, two cows whom I had dubbed “Cody” and “Nicole”, a surly young bull aptly named “Bully”, and a pony named Raindrop (Best 7th birthday present EVER).
What we didn’t really have were pets, at least of the household variety. This was up until I was around the age of 6, when a grey and black striped stray cat showed up at our house, mewing her tale of kitty woe for handouts. Of course my sister and I were elated, thinking, “Hey! Free cat!”, but I’m certain our parents were less enthusiastic about this feline vagabond. At first we referred to this cat as “Kitty”, which then involved into the sophisticated “Katy”, when she became a bigger player within the family unit. I’m certain the cat both noticed and cared about the moniker progression. Nevertheless, my sister and I loved her, and even though she wasn’t really allowed inside too often (kind of like…hippies), we were thrilled she was around. Her little food dish was kept on our front porch were she could access it whether or not we were awake.
One evening, when my dad was away, and my mom was in the shower, my sister and I excitedly noticed a non-cat intruder stealing Katy’s vittles. About the size of a cat, white, pointed face, beady black eyes, a row of sharp little teeth, and a long, slender, hairless tail….OPOSSUM.
We were hysterical. The combination of a 6 year old and a 4 year old left alone in a room, nighttime, and a WILD ANIMAL proved to be a noisy affair indeed. We leaned into the big bay window, watching this thieving creature and shrieking for our mother.
Our poor mom came rushing down the stairs, only having time to throw on an oversize t-shirt, her hair wrapped up in a towel like a hijab. I am certain my sister and I calmly explained what all the excitement was about in an orderly fashion. What else would you expect from two little girls? Oh…oh, right. Screaming. Screaming and jumping up and down (Parents everywhere, I salute you for dealing with the constant screaming).
Not one to be weak in the face of adversity, our mom sprung into action. She retrieved my father’s rifle, a .22 he kept mainly to scare off foxes who were constantly haranguing the chickens at night, but mostly which sat unused and unloaded in an undisclosed location which could not be accessed by underage hands.
My sister and I took our places on the big blue couch, which faced the bay window that had now become ground zero for mom’s assault on the furry menace. I didn’t even know she could HOLD a gun, nevertheless load and then fire the thing. The unsuspecting opossum, who previously thought that he’d hit the motherload of free crunchy brown edibles, continued munching away as my mom quietly opened the window, leaned forward with her elbows on the window sill, and lined up her shot.
At this point, a 6 year old girl and a 4 year old girl are in PIECES. I mentioned before that my mother had just stepped out of the shower, and I meant it. She literally had only enough time to throw on a t-shirt. Just a t-shirt. As Jessica Simpson so poetically worded it, “nothin’ but a t-shirt on”. A 6 year old girl and a 4 year old girl have completely forgotten all of the excitement surrounding the opossum, and are now laughing hysterically as they stare at their mother’s completely uncovered backside. That’s right, her butt. Here was our mom, leaning out of a window to shoot an opossum in the night with a rifle, her derriere staring us in the face. We couldn’t make enough “full moon” jokes. It is to her credit that she didn’t just kill us.
In the end, I do believe she killed the creature, or at least gave him a good war story. I don’t remember much about the outcome, I just remember that moment of vulnerability which my sister and I seized, and she herself handled quite elegantly. But I guess that’s what parenting is, really. Embarrassing yourself over and over for the sake of your kids, hoping for the best.
***
Everyone says they have the “Best Mom in the World” on Mother’s day. I’m so sorry to break this to everyone, but you are in fact mistaken. That title is currently held by my Mother, Susan Haynes, and she’s not budging. Everyone can go home now, thank you for playing. And watch out, she can use a gun.
I love you , Mom.
