Matt Hazard

The year was 1980…or maybe 1977? Who knows, I wasn’t born yet. Either way, this story takes place sometime in the past.

Pete, my mom’s younger brother, was having some trouble with bullies in middle school. Maybe it was his nerdy glasses, or perhaps it was the knee-high socks and sandals – it’s tough to say. This didn’t sit well with his older sister Karin – a young woman who would later grow into a bloodthirsty beast of a mother whose five sons would ultimately push her insanity even further into the void – however, I digress.

Karin, for accuracy’s sake, was no angel herself. She also frequently partook in the gleeful activity of terrorizing her own kin whenever she was forced to babysit. The difference here is that her younger brother Pete was her turf. You don’t overstep with Karin. Ever.

One day after school, Pete came home crying. The bullies had once again gotten the better of him. Karin was outraged, but she didn’t show it. In a somber voice, she asked Pete where the bullies were. Through sobs, he explained who they were and that they were hanging out in front of the school. Karen recognized those two names. She told Pete it’s best he stay home, and made for the school.

I learned at a young age not to piss off Mom, with or without a full moon. It was the look in her eye that instilled the fear of God in you. Unfortunately for the bullies, they never got that memo.

She, being in high school at the time, dwarfed the two bullies in size. Upon finding them, she grabbed each by the scruff of their shirts and hauled them inside the school, directly into the principal’s office and slammed the door behind her. Keep in mind, this was in the 70’s. You could totally do that to kids and the world was OK with it.

With the door shut tight behind them, it was just the two bullies, my crazy mom, and the principal in a small side office. Before the principal had an opportunity to talk, Karin unleashed the inner demon and in great detail, explained what she’d do to these boys if they ever laid a finger on her little brother again. Verbs poured from her curled lips like water down a waterfall, the whole time both bullies looking wide-eyed from her over to the principal, who sat quietly listening. What the bullies didn’t realize, is that Karin had a good rapport with that principal, having gone to that school just a few years prior. He waited patiently – albeit maybe a little too patiently – until the threats slowed to a stop with Mom retracting her Wolverine claws and catching her breath.

Finally, the principal spoke. “Well boys, as a rule I don’t enjoy getting involved in family matters. You heard her, I kindly suggest you leave Pete alone moving forward.” Stunned, the bullies left, and wouldn’t you know, they didn’t bug Pete again.

To this day, I’m convinced that the term Karen is a lost-in-translation term loosely coined after my savage mother.

Sidebar – my mom called me as I was wrapping this up. I told her I was writing a brief story about her and Uncle Pete. No word of a lie, she says this;

“Uh oh! I hope it’s a good story! You’re not going to talk about the time I threatened him with a butterknife are you?”

Generation X might be the craziest generation of all time.