It all started on a Saturday afternoon when I came in after mowing the lawn. Mom jumped me from behind the door and started tickling me ruthlessly.
“Gottcha!” she shouted and began to circle me against a wall. I started laughing and tried to fight Mom’s fingers for their torture. Know that if I didn’t run away soon, Mom would make me cry so loudly.
We’ve done things like that since I was seven. In the morning she woke me up for school by jumping on the bed where I slept and she started tickling me until I begged her to stop. But usually I even had the following weekend, because at the time Dad had to leave for work very early so Mom slept late. While she was still asleep, I was going to leave nowhere and land on her bed, bouncing us both up in the air. As in the past, we started to place ice cubes in shirts, water balloons coming from nowhere and when we worked in the garden, we vaporized with the garden hose (although once we weren’t out when it happened). What a mess!). Basically, we acted more like best friends than mother and son.
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