The aforementioned slippers only come off when one of the angels known as children are particularly uncouth. One such occasion presented itself on a cloudy Sabbath evening of my youth. An untimely cheeky comment that my mother's aging ears interpreted as coming out of my saintly mouth, stirred the brimstone within her warm eyes. I knew the line had been crossed. My time had come.I bolted towards the staircase in hopes of escaping the wrath of the Slipper. Slow motion filming overtook my young body as my head circled around to check on the status of my forbearer's castigation. With well hidden agility and secreted elasticity, the foot flexed, the knee bent and the slipper in question found the familiar warmth of my mom's hand. I had safely reached the first stair as the wooden sole of the Slipper felt the gentle fingers of my matron aiming it at my head.
With immaculate precision, the woman from whose womb I woke hurled the Slipper from a horizontal position. Three stairs down the case was the fleeting progress of my body when the Slipper passed through the lathed banister. A triumphant Slipper clashed with the side of my head; a better strike could not have been orchestrated by President Obama himself.
The Slipper sat motionless next to me as I lay prostrate on the linoleum. The simple words, "Are you okay?" came from the sofa where the victorious matriarch was comfortably arranged. Such affection, kindness and love has never been crooned out of the lips of Neil Diamond. Charlton Heston's Oscar award winning performance pales in comparison to the epic devotion that my mother has shown me and each of her children. I will forever be in debt to this woman for her unfathomable loyalty, steadfast example and for being the architect of my childhood. I love you mom.