Today was Saturday - my favorite day of the week. I loved Saturdays because Dad was always home and everything was more fun when he played with us. Today he took all of us to a big parade in town. There were horses, flags, and candy galore, and I was greatly impressed. My new aspiration was to be in a parade, someday, somehow - but, preferably, sooner than later.
Now we were home again and I was bored with the quiet. Kara and I had followed Mom out to the clothesline where she started to pin on the socks, tee-shirts and underwear. The sun glared down on us and I could feel it reflecting off of my hair (bleached blond from previous summer days). When I reached up to touch my hair, it burned my fingers.
The sky was blue with puffy white clouds that sat above us like lake lazy cotton balls. Not even a tiny breeze blew; the heat waves shimmered as far as I could see. The day was still except for us, the birds, and the tiny bugs that made noises in the tall grass beyond our lawn.
I blew air into one side of my cheek, so it puffed up like a balloon, and held it. It was too hot to do anything fun.
Kara was quiet, as usual, handing Mom clothes to pin on the line. Her hair was fixed in a single ponytail that stood straight up on her head. How could she seem so content with nothing to do?
The grass felt prickly under my feet while I meandered over to the wagon that we had left out yesterday. I grabbed the handle and began pulling it towards the clothesline. It rattled and clanked over the hard-baked yard and the sound reminded me of a wagon train going west. Struck by this inspiration, I cracked an invisible whip, pretending to drive a team of oxen. "Getup ya slowpokes!" I shouted mercilessly, "We must go west!"
Mom was smiling and I proudly drove my team toward her. Obviously, she was proudly admiring how strong and brave I was.
Without warning, my oxen must have stumbled, because, in spite of my heroic encouragement, the wagon jolted to a stop and I nearly fell over.
I looked toward Mom, annoyed.
"Dumb wagon," I growled, completely furious that it had made me look so foolish while Mom and Kara were watching. "Take that!" I heaved the wagon tongue back at my offending foe with all the strength of my five years.
The one problem with this hasty act of vengeance was that when plastic hits plastic at the speed my wagon tongue hit the wagon, the said wagon tongue will fly straight back to where it came from. So, as I stood there in my blind rage, feeling victorious and smug, out of nowhere the hard plastic tongue flew back in retaliation and smacked me in the mouth with stinging force. I was dumbstruck; unable speak, laugh, or even cry. Numbly, I turned to face Mom.
My Mother - who said she loved me, who kissed me goodnight through good and bad, who hugged me when I cried - stood before me now... laughing at me.
Laughing at me.
I looked at Kara. She was grinning from ear to ear.
"That's what happens when you lose your temper," Mom chuckled.
Laughing at me.
Completely and thoroughly offended, I stalked off with as much dignity as I could retain. My pride was shattered, and my attitude turned from rage to remorse.
This was one of the many lessons I had to endure before I learned to control my temper. Years later, I would look back and laugh at the incident - but, long before that, Mom gave me another Bible verse to memorize.
Proverbs 16:13
He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.
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