A mother’s anger
One summer afternoon when I was about thirteen years old, I was walking outside the fence of a golf driving range picking up golf balls my friends and I could use when we played. A car suddenly pulled up on the side of the road near me and two young men jumped out, started yelling at me for taking the golf balls, and ran to grab me. Apparently, they worked at the driving range and their boss took exception to my scavenging.
I fled and the two guys and the driver of the car began the chase. I managed to escape them (motivated by the adrenaline of fear) by running into an alley and through some backyards. I finally made it home, wheezing from asthma, with a car-full of young men in hot pursuit.
My mother came out of the house, and the two men got into the car and quickly left. When I explained what had happened, she became very angry about the extreme reaction by management to what I had done. She put me in the car, and we drove to the range. She then confronted the owner in a heated display of righteous anger expressed in word and gesture.
I'll never forget that moment. She totally intimidated my tormentors. This was an unusual event. My parents were not the indulgent types at all. I rarely saw my mother express strong anger. I must say, it felt good, though, to see someone so strongly on my side in a situation in which I felt unjustly treated.
Next: Anger as a basic emotion