As a teenager, I noticed something sketchy about my sister. It all involved avoiding one creature. She would not return any of this entity's phone calls. She would come home at a time where she knew this humanoid was not home, which meant she would leave home whenever the creature was home. And with good reason. The being would come and complain to her that the chores were not done. Sound familiar? She would always ask my help when using the computer. We weren't her slaves, so I never saw this as a figure that inspires fear and dread. My sister, though, that is another story. That's right people; I am talking about our Mother.

My sister and I did not grew up with Mom. We spent out childhood in a popular spot in the Caribbean, the Dominican Republic. It's like Cancun, except I lived in the real no-fantasy part of the country. We liked it; our uncles and aunts kept it as real and flexible as they could. Eventually, we had to come back home for vacations. The day we came back to the US, our relatives said "good luck! Your mom is quite something." We did not know what that meant; mom would visit us in the DR. We knew who she was. We always thought what we saw is what we were going to get. Man, were we wrong. I got over it. My sister did not.

Upon arrival, we discovered Mami was a helicopter parent. For those who don't know, according to precious Google, it is a parent who takes an over protectively and aggressive approach in the life of their children. I rolled with the punches. Sissy did not. The main plot of this story takes place in that wasteland known as The Bronx. For those who don't know me, I am originally from The South Bronx. Thanks, Mama. Her overprotective way of communicating with us is what eventually led to my Sister Eileen being afraid of our mom. I know I am not supposed to make this funny, but that's the nature of this anyway. Examples? She would call us whenever she could. If we did not pick up the phone, she would think the worse and be the worse. Eventually her over-protectiveness would escalate a bit violently. There was just yelling. Like this one time where my sister opened the kitchen cabinets slowly to not wake her. She woke up anyway and just looked at her. For five seconds nothing was said. Then she proceeded to remind her that it was three in the morning and said "who in the name of Jesus wakes up at this time to eat sweets?!" Eileen just went back to her room. Again, just yelling. Except this one time where things got a bit physical.

One day, we were on summer vacation. While in vacation she would take us to my adoptive aunt to take care of us while she works. She loves me so much, she gave me math homework to do while at Tia Angela. Who does that to a child? Well, my mom. The day passed. We watched TV. Played with our cousins. And went back home while being escorted by Tia. Well, mom was there. We were used to this by now. But she was really tired. She works hard to make sure we have what we need, even now that we are in our twenties. Thanks, mom. Again, she was really tired that day and she was in and out of sleep while we were there. Out of the blue, mom says "I thought I asked you to do chores before going to your auntie's house?"

"I forgot," she said. I payed no mind to this. But the argument intensified. "I thought I told you what to do!" Mom's voice was getting higher. My sister kept giving excuses. She said she meant to do it as she got home, but we all knew that was a lie. Then the inevitable happened. Mom decided to lay hands on Eileen. I thought that was the end of her. We are Caribbeans; when we fight, we fight. But this was mom. How do you defend yourself against you own mom? Well, Eileen had the answer for that. She evaded the strike, and glided to the kitchen. "Mom, it wasn't my fault!" She said desperately. While trapped in that corner, there was no escape. So mom went for it again. Big mistake, for this time Eileen was ready. Out of fear of death by a parent, she reached out for the Nesquik flavor milk chocolate powder container. And just hold it there to take the blow. I couldn't take my eyes off this scenario. The next thing you know you just hear my mom scream as the Nesquik box slips through my sister's butter fingers due to the intensity of mami's bofetada. It made a turn of 180 degrees and lied close to the refrigerator.

"Look at what you did!" Says mom, as the milk chocolate powder attracted the bugs and rats. We did not know how to respond. if your Caribbean parents relies on corporal punishment to teach you to not forget your chores, you let them. In the US? You use a box of chocolate to protect yourself from mom's exaggerated wrath. After all these years, I still relive this whenever I want to laugh. It is safe to say Eileen is till afraid of mom. Then again I like to think she is getting over it. You know, whenever she asks me whether she is home or not.