Lady Luck and Motherly Love

Father told me early in life that women would be my downfall. I spent a good part of my youth taunting Lady Luck like one does with a horse and carrot, partaking in various dangerous stunts that are typical of young boys. Fortunately for me (and my poor mother’s heart), it appeared that Lady Luck was a kind, old soul. I didn’t come away unscathed, but what is a broken collarbone when it very easily could have been a broken neck?

At those times, mother would forget all of her good breeding and dash out of the house as a lay wailing on the ground. Father would be right behind her to give me a good scolding, but mother’s eyes always calmed him before he could unleash his tirade. She would cradle me as she never did when I was a babe and fuss while my bones were set or alcohol was dripped onto any open wounds. However; if I continued to whimper after being treated, father would give me a sharp glance and mother would ignore me and tell her company I was ill with some newfangled psychiatric disorder.

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