Mom Takes Charge
by M.C.
A high school wrestler describes life with his overprotective mother.


I suppose it's really quite natural when you think about it. I mean, every
parent wants the best for their children don't they? At least the good ones
do. And single parents probably feel even more responsibility for their
child's upbringing as all the burden for their welfare rests on their
shoulders. Therefore, I suppose you really can't blame my mom too much for
being the way she is. After all, it can't be easy raising a teenage son;
especially after the untimely death of my father from cancer three years ago.
But there are times when I wish she'd just lighten up a bit and let me deal
with my problems myself - I will have to go out on my own someday you know.
The incident that happened two months ago is a perfect case in point...

I came home from school in a very bad mood; it had not been a good day. First,
Cathy, my girlfriend, informed me that she was breaking up with me for
Richard, the starting left fielder on the baseball team. Then later that
afternoon in wrestling practice (I'm the middleweight wrestler on my high
school team - I guess it runs in the family), Jack Butler, our heavyweight
wrestler, began to tease me about it. Although a pompus and conceited jock,
Jack is also happens to be a terrific wrestler - he's the defending city
champion in his weight class and hasn't lost a match in nearly two years.
Furious, I told him to mind his own business but, as I weigh only 165 pounds
to his 225, all my efforts got me was a hard slap across the face which
knocked me to the gym floor. Jack then continued to taunt me while the other
members of the team just stood by and laughed. Mr. Roberts, the wrestling
coach, did absolutely nothing about it either except stand off to the side and
smirk. As I was saying, I had a rather bad day.

When I got home my mom was in the kitchen preparing dinner. "Hi sweetie pie,"
she said in the cutsie voice she usually speaks to me in (even though I'm 18
years old, and a varsity wrestler, she still speaks to me as if I were a
child),"how was your day?"

"It was...O.K." I replied as casually as I could. Although I tried to be cool
about it, one didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to sense that something wasn't
quite right. Without saying another word I went into my bedroom, closed and
locked the door behind me and flung myself on the bed...where I began to cry.
A few moments later I heard the knock on my door.

"Knock, knock, Willy," my mom said in a soft voice,"may I come in?" (Although
I prefer to be called Bill, my mom usually calls me Willy, just like she did
when I was a little kid. Except when she gets angry with me that is; then she
calls me William).

"I'd rather you didn't mom. I'm a...rather busy."

After a moment of silence I heard her say in a strong, firm voice,"William, if
you don't open the door this instant, I'll smash it down and tan your hide!" I
had learned - as had my father many years before - that when my mother spoke
to you in this manner you'd better do as she says; or else. Smashing down the
door and tanning my hide was not an idle threat, it was a promise.
Reluctantly, I unlocked and opened the door.

When she saw the tears running down my cheeks, my mom's voice softened and she
asked sympathically,"what happened to my little Willy in school today?"

"It's...it's nothing mom."

"William, tell me what happened to you today!" her tone sharpened, then she
added, "if I have to ask you one more time...well, you know what I'll do."

I knew. Although mom loved me very much, as she had my father, there's one
thing she had absolutely no tolerance for, deception."Honesty," she would say
over and over again,"is the key to a strong and long lasting relationship."
She was always completely honest with us and expected complete honesty from us
in return. When we weren't, she punished us (I'll never forget the night that
my father came home from work after 10 pm. He told mom he had to work late but
she knew otherwise - she called his office and found out he went out drinking
with some of his friends. When he confessed, mom took him across her knee and
spanked him until he broke down and cried. She then grounded him for a month.
He never lied to her again). It was obvious my mother knew something was wrong
and wasn't going to let up until she found out what it was. "O.K. mom," I said
after a lengthy pause,"this is what happened..."

I told her everything. About Cathy's breaking up with me. About being teased
and slapped by Jack while the rest of the team just stood by and watched.
About how the coach didn't intervene to break it up. Everything. And when I
was finished, I broke down and began to cry again."There, there now
honeybunch," my mom said as she wrapped her amazingly strong arms around me
and forced my head against her large, firm breasts,"don't you worry about a
thing - mommy's gonna make it all right for her little Willy."

"Mom...I wish you wouldn't interfere. This is my problem and I'll deal with
it."

"There's where you're wrong honey - it's not just your problem, it's*our*
problem. Because whatever affects you, also affects me. If you're unhappy then
I'm unhappy."

"But how am I ever going to learn how to cope with life's problems if you're
always going to back me up? At some point I'm going to have to face situations
like these on my own, aren't I?"

"Yes dear, at some point indeed you will. But for now, at the tender age of
18, you don't have to - at least not alone, that's what I'm here for. I'm here
to help you and I'd be derelict in my duty as your mother if I didn't try to
help you through this. So honey, you just tell me the name of this nasty bully
on your wrestling team and mommy will take care of things."

Much as I wanted her to keep out of it, I knew there was no point in trying to
argue any further; when mom's mind is made up, it's made up. So I told
her."Jack", I said,"Jack Butler. What are you going to do about it?"

My question was met with a cryptic smile. "I'm going to do what needs to be
done," she replied with a wink. My mother then bent down and lifted me up off
the floor as if I were a puppy. She craddled me in her strong arms for a few
moments and then carried me over to my bed. She placed me down on top of it,
got a tissue and gently dried the tears from my eyes; then sat down next to
me. "Willy, how many times do I have to explain this to you?" she began
tenderly. "Ever since your father passed away you are all I have, and it's my
responsibility to see to it that you're well taken care of. I want my little
man to be happy."

*Little*, when my mother uses it, is a relative term. I stand five feet eight
inches tall and weigh 165 pounds. My mother is only five foot six, but weighs
a rock-solid 185 pounds. And even though my father stood six feet two and
weighed around 220, my mother still called him 'little'. With mom,'little' is
more a discription of relative strength and power than actual physical size.
To her we were always 'little'...as I'll probably always be.

"But mom, when are you going to let me grow up and fend for myself?"

"When you're ready honey," she cooed softly,"when you're ready. Now, you have
yourself a nice little nap and I'll call you when dinner is ready." She tucked
me into bed, leaned over and kissed me on the forehead; then left the room. If
my mother had been what you'd call a *normal* mom, she would probably have
called up the principal of my school and arranged a meeting with him to
discuss my problem. But my mother is not exactly what you'd call a normal mom
- she's a martial arts expert and a professional lady wrestler; and she would
handle this situation her way.

AT WRESTLING PRACTICE THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON...

"O.K. guys," the large, powerfully built man standing in the middle of the
circle of high school wrestlers blurted out,"let's begin our warm-up
exercises. Jack, you lead them today." I couldn't help but notice the exchange
of grins between Coach Roberts and Jack when he said that.

"Yes coach," Jack replied enthusiactically. As Coach Roberts walked off and
entered his office, Jack looked directly at me and shouted,"Bill, get on the
floor and give me fifty; right now!"

Fifty push-ups? Right away he's making me do fifty push-ups? I never
understood what the coach had against me. I trained hard, won most of my
matches - truth be told, only Jack has had a better won-lost record than I've
had over the past two years. I always show up for practice on time and never
missed one. And yet I can't help feeling that Coach Roberts has it in for me
somehow. He rarely, if ever, congratuales me when I win and always berates me
after a loss; rare though they are. Although I've always been very curious as
to why he treats me this way, I've never been able to build up the courage to
ask him about it. I guess it's just one of those things.

As my push-up count passed thirty, I heard the door to the wrestling gym open
and close. I didn't look up at first but could tell, by the silence that
suddenly pervaded the room, that something unusual had happened. At forty I
glanced up...and my heart literally stopped beating. For there, standing in
front of all the wrestlers on my high school team, dressed in a sexy, shocking
pink playtex wrestling outfit, was my mom!

"Good afternoon boys," she said with a smile as she stood before them with her
hands on her hips. "I understand that one of you rough, tough wrestlers have
been giving my Willy a hard time. Which one of you is Jack Butler?"

"That would be me," the largest and strongest of them said as he approached
her, "what of it?"

"Well big boy, it seems that you and I have a little score to settle."

I was still in my push-up position, holding my body up with my arms extended.
I was staring, dumbfounded, at the incredible scene before me. There was my
mom - all five feet six inches and 185 pounds of her - standing toe-to-toe
with the six foot-two inch, 225 pound Jack Baker, the city heavyweight
wrestling champion. Her tight wrestling outfit clearly hightlighted her
powerful thighs as well as her large, well rounded breasts and she had her
long blond hair tied back into a ponytail. Although I have seen my mother in
this garb many times before (I used to attend her wrestling matches almost
religiously on Saturday nights), I have never seen her look more impressive
than she did today...or more ominious.

But did she really stand a chance against the mighty Jack Baker; undefeated in
nearly two years of high school wrestling? Not only was she a woman, but mom
would be giving up some eight inches in height and 40 pounds in weight to him.
True, she did keep herself in tip-top shape - running a school for female
wrestlers and teaching several self-defence classes for women at the Y (mom
holds a second degree black belt in jujitsu). But she hasn't wrestled
competitively since my father passed away three years ago. And, on top of
that, she'll be 45 years old next month while Jack was 18 - in the prime of
his life. Did my mother really think she had a chance?

"Mom, are you sure..."

"Oh hush up honey," she said, anticipating what I was about to say."Don't you
have ten more push-ups to do?"

I nodded.

"Well then, get to it young man; you know what a stickler I am for rules. And
when you're finished, you can watch me teach this tough, macho friend of yours
a lesson." Mom then turned her attention back to the huge wrestler standing
before her. "All right big boy," she smiled up at him,"show me what you've
got!"

End of part 1