 |
| Gigga, at the shooting range 1979 |
I hope you all had a Happy Mothers Day, filled with love and
wine and kisses from your babies :)
I’ve decided to do a post about MY mom. You’ve been introduced to her briefly over
the months as Gigga (my daughters name for her because she couldn’t pronounce “grama”). Her actual name is Beverly, but I just call
her awesome.Most moms bake cookies and play tennis. Not mine. Mine shoots guns. From 1978-1981, she was on a women’s shooting team called “the Beachnuts” (after their Coach’s favorite brand of chewing tobacco), they kept their bullets in spittoons, her romantic “date night” with my dad (who was an investigator at the State Attorney’s Office) was at the shooting range, and in 1980 she came home from a match in Gainesville with a trophy, declaring her the #1 female marksman in the state. Swear!
Here’s a little yuletide story about our Gigga and just one example of how she continues to come through for me when I need her:
PICTURE IT: Christmas Eve, 1992
The mall is PACKED.
But I’m leaving the next day for Louisville to spend 10 days with my
boyfriends parents and I need/mostly want an outfit for the plane. First impressions and all that. So we’re driving around the parking lot for
at least 25 minutes, in gridlocked traffic.
We’re stuck…can’t go forward, back, or around…stuck...and then it happened. A car wants to back out of a space but it can’t,
no one can go anywhere. He starts
yelling at us. STUCK in this ridiculous
traffic, Gigga driving…shrugs her shoulders and starts laughing. Punky gets out of the passenger side and
starts approaching our car. My aunt Annie starts panicking and...I think...crying. She’s
yelling “looock the doooors”, grabs her purse like a bowling bag, and crouches
down in the back seat. I, on the other hand,
need a goddamn outfit for the plane and gotta get myself to The Limited…quick…so
I start giving him the finger.
Gigga of course…still shrugging and laughing.
Punky is PISSED OFF at the 2 senior citizens and the bitch giving him
the finger and throws his soda on the hood of our car. Gigga, feathers very UNruffled, picks up the car phone (1992!) and acts like
she’s dialing the police. Madder, he pulls on the waistband of his
punky pants and shows us the butt of his gun.
>>> Ok now…Annie has
shit her pants in the backseat, and I’m not gonna lie I was feeling the heat
and thinking the finger might notta been such a good idea <<<
But then…STILL SHRUGGING AND LAUGHING...Gigga reaches under
the seat and pulls out HER gun (a .38 snubnose) and holds it up in the windshield…not pointed
at him, just like “oh ya, I bet my guns better!!” They stared at each other for like 5 minutes, Gigga still holding up her gun...and Annie and I wanted to duck and get the hell out. But punky backed down,
got in the car, and somehow pulled out in traffic. Gone. Gigga put her gun back under the seat, we took
their space and I was in The Limited 20 minutes later. All in a days work for Gigga…and I found a
sweet little sweater set. Annie never
got out of the car…lol
My mother: all my life
she worked 12+ hours a day; made meat, potatoes,
and a vegetable every night; kept me in
Catholic school even though we had no money; came to all my sporting events; sent me to college; and she’s STILL listening to all my bullshit
even today. See why I say she's awesome??
Thanks, Gigga!!! I
love you more than the big box of Rocher and anything with bacon. So much that when you’re in the home, I
promise to get you a pedicure every week and spring for a room with a window!! Maybe even a sponge bath from the orderly with the muscles...wink wink...I gotcha covered...lol
