Our mother went inside the grocery store in Chinatown to shop while we stood watch on the crowded sidewalk with her “cart” of bags. I was likely around 7 years old and my sister was only 6 years old. Curious, I wandered over to look at the random produce and bags. By accident, I bumped into an older lady. Surprised, she took her cane to whip me and I ran back to my sister, tears forming on my face. “I got hit!” I said, my lip trembling.
“What do you mean?”
“That lady!” I said and swiveled around, pointing at the older lady who was now scanning the wrinkled oranges 25 cents a pound. “She used her cane and hit me in the leg!”
“Okay, Big Sister,” she said. “Stay here.”
With agility, she sped straight to the older lady. Never mind that the older lady was at least double the height of my sister. With her pigtails bouncing, she rammed the older lady with her head from behind. My sister promptly ran away before the older lady could see. Shocked from the bump, the older lady dropped the oranges on the ground, the orange balls rolling all over the sidewalk. Other shoppers shook their head in disgust.
My sister returned, triumphant. “Good job!” I exclaimed. “She got what she deserved.”