When we got alittle older we treated mom as bad as she treated us. We didn’t give a shit if she liked us. We knew she couldn’t like anyone . . . so what the hell. We let her have it. We called her names and back talked her and totally disrespected her. Some times she’d erupt in crocodile tears . . . moanin’ and Jesus Christ-ing and goin’ crazy threatening to kill herself because of us. She’d say, “I’m goink out to the reservoir Landa und valk een.” I’d jump up and run to the closet real quick. I’d come back and say, “OK, mom, here’s your coat.” That made her so mad. Once I even said I’d give her a ride out there to save her some time and trouble. Boy, she could turn the tears off like a faucet. It was an insult to us when she made those threats. We weren’t buyin’ her bullshit. We all knew mom wasn’t about to kill herself . . . she didn’t have sense enough to kill herself.