Mama Bear Anger

My dad taught me a lot of important lessons growing up.  But there is one that I have gone back to, time and time again, throughout my life.  This advice has never changed.  It has always remained constant.  It is  my truth. 

My dad, a man that I admire greatly,  knelt down, took my shoulders in his hands, looked straight into my 7 year old eyes, and said these prolific words, "Michelle, if someone ever pushes you around, ever lays a hand on you, take them out.  As long as they touch you first, you stand up for yourself."   I could hear my mom in the background, yelling out, "Toooom, don't teach her thaaaat!"

See, my older brothers had gotten the same talk from my dad.  And on more than one occasion, one brother, (who shall remain nameless, but who's initials are P.F.), had been expelled from school for this "lesson".

I vividly remember the first time I really stood up for someone.  I was 8 years old, and I played on a soccer team with my best friend, Margie.  Before going on, you need to understand one thing about my friend Margie:  she is the sweetest, most loving person on the planet.  She would never hurt ANYone.

Imagine my duress, when during a game one day, I noticed she was crying.  "Marge, what's wrong?"  She wept,  "It's that girl on the other team, she is being too rough.  She's pushing me around."  That was all I needed to hear, and it was SO on. 

The next time that little bully worked her way down the field, I straight slide tackled her from behind.  She didn't even have the ball.  It didn't matter.  My message was clear:  you mess with my sweet and sensitive friend, you will get my wrath.

Throughout my childhood, I tried my hand at all kinds of sports:  soccer, swimming, basketball, softball, volleyball,  and karate.  But what I found out in almost every single case was the same:  I excelled in sports that involved contact.  Body on body.  Moving people around.  I loved it!  And standing at 5'11, most times, it worked out to my benefit.

The first time my husband ever saw me play ANY sport, was at the Hoop It Up, 3 on 3 basketball tournament in downtown San Jose.  Street ball at its best.  Black concrete and no refs.  No refs meant the other team called your fouls.  Or not.  If you were matched with women who wanted to PLAY, and weren't worried about breaking a damn nail, things got physical, and quick. 

 I was playing with my girls from De Anza: Trish, standing solid at 6 foot 3.  Tamie, our guard, who was just as fierce as she was feisty.  And little ol' me. 

Right from the start, there kind of has to be a mutual understanding with the person you are matched up defending from the other team.  "Let me play my game, and I'll let you play yours.  Don't call me on all of my fouls, and I won't call you on yours." 

However, there was no mutual understanding in that first game.  It was just plain ugly, sloppy and violent.  So having taken JUST about ENOUGH from this woman on the other team, I was forced to make a decision:  let her elbows continue to fly, or put a screeching and abrupt halt to it.  I chose the later, and basically, threw her down on the concrete. 

Tom sat there, watching, mouth open, not believing what he was taking in. You could almost hear him thinking out loud, "But aren't girls sugar and spice and everything nice?"  No, we're not.  Welcome to my world.

I quickly learned, if need be,  I could defend myself without a problem.  Without becoming emotional about it.  I just took care of business. 

But when it came to OTHER people..."underdogs" being picked on by a bully, I just plain saw RED.  When my Mama Bear instinct kicks in, it IS emotional.  And that's not always a good thing for all concerned.

I was at a concert with my step-daughter, Katie, when I woman touched the top of my head, and yelled, "Sit down, you tall ass bitch."  Without going into specifics, let just say I handled myself...without being kicked out.  I don't even want to THINK about what could have happened if she would have put her hands on Katie.  One thing is for certain:  I would have gone to jail for homicide.  Is it normal to feel that much RAGE?! 

After school one day, my daughter, Bella, was explaining to me that she was being bullied by a much bigger classmate.  For reader purposes, I will call this girl bully, Satan.  I felt myself burning with anger.  "Bella, you have to stand up for yourself."  I found myself giving my daughter the SAME speech my dad gave me!  "If she EVER touches you, if she EVER lays a hand on you, or ANY of your sisters, take her down."  Bella, looking worried, said, "But hoooow Mom?  How do I act mean?" 

Hmmmm, good question.  This can't be taught.  Aggression comes from deep within.  I should know. 

The next time I went to school to volunteer in Bella's class, I asked another student, "Where does Satan sit?"  He answered, "Right here, at my group."  Satan had heard her name, and looked up.  She was huge, almost as big as me.  Satan looked old enough to drive her own self to school.

 I looked Satan square in her little beady eyes, sending my message, without saying a word.  "I know what you're doing to my daughter you little bitch.  It better stop NOW.  That's right, Satan, I'm watching you."

Once again, I'm questioning, is this amount of anger normal?  Please don't be scared of me.  Just remember one thing:  you want me on YOUR team!