Before we go any farther,I simply must inform you of a few "little" things about my mother. She was raised in the Ozark Mountains in Missouri. She taught me to shoot guns,she taught me to fight,she taught me to use a bow and arrows,she taught me to swim,to ride horses,and how to throw knives. My mother could out shoot and out fight most men that I have known! She has also been known to out drink,and out cuss most men that I have known. My mother was,quite simply,one "mean mother".
Seems no one had ever stopped her when she was beating one of us kids...I had just crossed an invisible line,and would have to pay for my transgression....dearly. My mom went and locked every door and window in the house. When she finished this task,she informed me that the only way I would leave that house was if she were dead,or I was dead,and carried out. Mom said that I was about to "grow up,quickly".
At this point,I was simply terrified! My mother had a look that said she wasn't kidding;that look was burning a hole through me right then! Mom drew first blood,and it wasn't pretty. I knew she wasn't kidding,and that I would have to give it everything she had taught me,or this would get ugly fast. This was a fight to the death,and I took it very seriously. The battle raged throughout the house.She hit me with everything she could find. I hit back,no punches pulled,no quarter given,by me or her. Thirty minutes into the "conflict",my mother lay on the floor,not moving.
Was she alive? I didn't care....I simply wanted out of that house! I was not taking the chance that she would,or COULD get up. I ran the mile to school,where the principal saw the condition I was in....my freedom did not come easy that day. I was just as bloody as my mother was,and must have looked a sight!
We have never gotten along after that,she was always mad that I got out alive.I was just glad to walk away from it still breathing.