A piece of advice.  Mockery is a boomerang.  If you allow yourself to throw it, even in jest, it will always come back and hit you in the head.  Jesting or not, this hurts.

During my freshman year of high school, we lived in Noel, Misouri. Population 782... three when dad was in town.  Our house on Harmony Street had no insulation so after Christmas, Dad moved us across the bridge outside of town to a cinderblock house over by the Arthur Murray Hotel.  Lorene street. 

When we lived in Missouri, Dad worked out of Pacoima California transporting sailboats behind dual wheeled pick up trucks.  Occasionally a boat would actually be on top of the truck. He'd come through on his way to some place or back to California again.  Mom and I spent most of each week alone.  Mom knitted and crocheted, I sewed and embroidered.  We both read voraciously and loved to listen to the radio at night.  Bruce Williams (never buy a house without an attorney) and Sally Jesse Raphael  (a fun eighth grade graduation party idea is a lunch box social just in case you wanted to know.)

Sometime between February and May, we grew into a habit of teasing each other with mockery.  My parents never put up with disrespect or "cheek".  I would never get away with sassing any adult much less them.  I knew who was boss and I knew how to show respect for my elders!  However, my mom and I did tease each other.  I'm pretty sure mom started it.  I would never have had the guts to do it myself.  I probably asked "What's for dinner?"  or something innocent like that and mom must have replied in a mocking singsong echo of my query, "What's for dinner?"

However it started, this became a funny little past time for us.  She'd tell me to go put away the dishes and I'd mock it on the way to oblige.  I'd tell her we were out of shampoo and she'd repeat my information saucily.  It was fun in a quirky sort of way.  It fit our bizarre personalities and incomprehensible senses of humor.

At this time in my life, when the weather was inclement or if I happened to be running late, or just because, Mrs. Strickland and John would pick me up for church.  I loved riding in their little tan Ford Tempo and laughing with them.  Mrs. Strickland was one of my heroes. 

One Sunday, an elderly woman of our church, Mary, needed a ride so we stopped on our way and brought her to church with us.  As I stepped out of the car...

Remember how I said mockery is a boomerang?

... Mrs. Strickand said, "Will you help Mary get into the building?"

Without blinking an eye, I quipped as I reached for the car door handle, "Will you help Mary-"  The tone, remember, is mocking.  Kind of like when a girl is ticked at her sister and says "neah neah neah neah."  I wanted to drop through the floor.  Just let me runaway and hide.  I'll miss you.  Forgive me.

The look on Mrs. Strickland's face still hurts me.  She was so shocked, grieved, and dumstruck.  I helped Miss Mary into the building and fought back tears.  John seemed to understand that there was a reason I'd done it and that it wasn't meant to be ugly.  He patted my shoulder awkwardly a few times until Dickie Lett came into the classroom and started our Sunday School Lesson.

Later, I did apologize to Mrs. Strickland and tried to explain.  Somehow I think she found it all very amusing but wisely agreed with me that  I'd better quit the game with mom.  When mom heard about it, she agreed too.  However, one great thing happened from that experience- well, several actually.  I learned how to joke with my mom.  Before that time, my attempts at joking were awkward and unnatural.  I also learned that things that are innocent diversions in one situation and inappropriate in another are probably generally best avoided.  You never know when it'll cross over that line.

If you reach for the boomerang "Mockery", be sure you don't let it hit you between the eyes.

"Be sure you don't let it hit you between the eyes"