My Mother

[flophousepoodle]

I was raised in the Middle East. We traveled in summer.

We began and ended each summer in London.

My mother raised us with what she refers to as the "Socratic method". That is, she taught us by asking questions.
(She now regrets this method as she managed to raise two know-it-all-assholes who think their mother is stupid)

We were in Heathrow airport. my brother was 12 years old and I was 10. We were terrible, fighting with each other and giving her hell. We were the age when we desperatley wanted to be "cool".
My father was always 1/2 mile ahead, with tickets and bags and things to do...-Like, stay away from us.

My mother couldn't take it anymore. She stopped in her tracks, dropped her bags, and with thousands of airline passengers parting to get around her she began singing at the top of her lungs:

"HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN; THOSE HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN.."

She had tears running down her face, but she held her head high and kicked her legs to keep the beat.

-It worked..We begged her "Please Mom! We'll be good! Please stop..Please!"

That's when my childhood ended. At ten years of age I knew that I just couldn't trust that stupid woman anymore.