I was fortunate to grow up living close to relatives on both sides of my family. My aunt and uncle on my father’s side of the family lived in the houses next to ours and my paternal grandmother lived around the corner. Even at a relatively early age, I could walk to her house without getting in the street. My grandmother was a widow and my father’s family spent a lot of time visiting her. One Saturday morning, my father was stopping by to check in with her and he heard some noise that he had not expected.
As he walked up on the back porch of her house, he could hear her inside shouting, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” This was not the kind of thing you would expect to hear coming from my grandmother. She was a small, quiet, older woman. She wasn’t the kind of person you would ever expect to shout. She also never seemed to get to excited about anything. She was a very even-tempered person. So, my dad was concerned when he heard her shouting. He was afraid that some of her neighbors had stopped to visit and had gotten into a fight. He rushed into the house not knowing what to expect. He arrived to find her on her knees in the floor of her living room in front of her TV shouting at the professional wrestling show. Before that, I don’t think we even knew she ever watched wrestling.