The first incident took place when I was three years old.
My grandmother and seven aunties wanted to prepare a feast to mark my third year on earth.
My mother refused, bluntly.
You must understand that this is unlike my mother. With her mother-in-law and seven sisters-in-law, she had always chosen her battles carefully. All those childless years of cruel teasing, taunting and torments… she scraped, she smiled, she bowed; in short, she stooped to conquer, as it were.
For the quiet.
Because she loved my father and was able to deal with their noise more than he could. She allowed them the first year to gloat, to joy, to make merry while she and my father sat with quiet smiles at the feasting table.
The second year, the same.
But, not this year.