She was just being mother.

I used to have a volatile temper. Long ago. In my younger days. Now I seldom get pissed.  People sometimes annoy me. But 98 percent of the time I write it off. Rarely do I get bona fide pissed any more. It’s a waste of time. Instead, I practice self-control. Proudly. Maybe arrogantly. I can pretend to be pissed. But that’s all it is. An act. I could get on stage. And perform. Being angry. I’d draw a line. In the sand. And declare, ‘Don’t cross it. Or you’ll be sorry.’  Don’t play with my sensitivity, I’d tell people. I’m capable of sending an unequivocal message. That yes, I am thoroughly pissed. When I ain’t. Maybe I was thoroughly pissed for the last time when growing up. In the family. And I had to take issue with my mother.  I suspect she’s forgiven me. Before she died. And if not, then in the spirit world. I often let my mother know where I was coming from. Don’t toy with me. Don’t try to make me in your own image. I’ll become my own being. Do things my own way. I don’t allow anyone to manipulate me. Not even my mother. I define myself. Others may try to define me. And try to require that I follow a certain path. They would rob me of my freedom. Independence. Maybe in coy and subtle ways. My mother was good at it. But I saw through it. And put a stop to it. But still, I loved my mother. Dearly. Because she was just being mother. –Jim Broede