Have you a precious memory in your life that puts a goofy smile of happiness and pride on your face whenever it comes back to you? Here’s one such of mine.
The year: 1993, the last quarter of it, to be precise. The chill in the air was only a hint as yet.
The time: Evening, when the children of the neighbourhood are let out by parents, and can be found to be having the time of their life either playing games, cycling or simply running around and screaming while chasing each other.
Since my own two were out making most of the play time, one in cricket and the other on his tricycle, I decided to lock up the house and go out on a walk.
As I walked up the road running through the residential area, ahead of me I saw a group of eight to ten year-olds, gathered together and arguing heatedly over some rule of game or other. I paid them scant attention. Children fight while playing, and also make up within no time. No big deal.
Just as I levelled up with them, one of the boys in the group called out something obnoxious. No, I didn’t hear what it was. Remember, I wasn’t paying attention. My mind was on other more important stuff like what I should make for breakfast/lunch/dinner the next day or some such. In spite, I heard something that followed the name calling and it made me stop in my tracks.
From behind me, someone had piped up in no uncertain terms:
“Meri Mummy hai!” (“She’s MY mother!”)
The menace the tone conveyed left none in any doubt. He meant business. Don’t you DARE, was the ominous message being broadcast. Or you will have ME to deal with.
The voice was familiar, and a very dear one. Looking back I saw the not-yet-four Second Born, standing, up from his tricycle seat, his hands clenching the handlebars, looking taller than his almost-three-feet look warranted.
The expression on his face was priceless. To me he looked like an indignant bear cub whose honeycomb had been snatched away by rude buddies. He had, mistakenly so, assumed that the older boy had flung the obnoxious insult at his precious mom, and he was having none of it.
Did my chest swell with pride? Of course it did. Almost fit to burst. And it also put a silly grin of pure happiness on my face. I mean, think of it. There was no way an almost-four year old was going to win a fight with a ten year old. But did my baby think any of that? No. All he thought of was that someone was being mean to his mother and without sparing a thought for consequences, had stood up for her.
That same silly grin of pure happiness still adorns my face whenever the memory resurfaces. And whenever it does, I also realise with a start that no one has ever done what he had done that day, in the six odd decades I have lived on Mother Earth.
Don’t get me wrong. I do have people in my life who stand by me through thick and thin, those that give behind the scenes support, extend help when needed, care for me when I am sick, the works. But the thrill of having someone stand up right then and there for you, not swallowing words that need to be said out of a misplaced sense of propriety, and unmindful of the strength of the ‘enemy’, that’s something special, isn’t it?
©️ Shail Mohan 2025
Shail's Nest 
This is priceless!
That is a lovely memory! What a brave boy 🙂
I don’t have anything similar, alas, but I do recall my son’s headmaster telling me with a large grin on HIS face, that my son was telling everyone his dad was the strongest man in the world. Back then, I was as scrawny as a scrawny thing. I’d started doing some weight exercises at home to try and build my muscle and my boy was clearly impressed! 😀
Shail, this memory touched me deeply. Your son’s fierce little stand brought tears to my eyes. You’re so right: we often support quietly, behind the scenes, but rarely speak up in the moment.
My husband once stood up for me when someone was being inappropriately rude, and though he’s usually the peacekeeper, that moment meant the world.