Mrs. C

     If it takes a village to raise a child, then my village consisted of just one other person outside the family.  Mrs. C was the best.  She was my best friend Mark's mom, which mandated she act as my surrogate mother whenever I was around.  Her face always seemed to glow with her big bright eyes, high cheekbones, and wide smile, which always reminded me of oh-so-pretty Olivia Newton-John.  And she was as sweet and nice as Olivia's character Sandy in the movie Grease.  She fed me all the time, allowed me all-access to her pool, and let me sleep over often.  Asking her Trivial Pursuit questions while she cleaned the kitchen was an easy trade-off for her after school snacks and homemade eggnog.  Although uncredited, I'm certain I was the first to shorten "Mrs. Cavallon" to "Mrs. C", lifting the nickname Fonzie gave Mrs. Cunningham during the Happy Days years.
     But like Sandy in her out of character, leather-wearing last scene, Mrs. C could play the tough, kick-ass role also if need be.  Like the time she poked Mrs. Cassin, the neighborhood grown-up bully, in the shoulder several times, while defending Mark's brother David from Mrs. Cassin's bully son after they had gotten into a fight.  Mark and I were laughing in the background, both impressed and humored by it all.  But motherly kindness and protection was Mrs. C's strongsuit.
     I must have been eight years old.  I woke up alone in the 2:00 a.m. darkness on the living room couch.  I had been sick, so my faculties weren't firing on all cylinders.  Without checking any of the other rooms in the house, my clouded mind somehow concluded that I had been abandoned and left home alone.  And I was scared.  So I walked out the back door, ran down the pitch black street, and banged on Cavallon's door until a puzzled Mrs. C turned on her carport light and saw me standing there in my pajamas.
     "Nobody's home.  They left me all alone"  I tried to explain to her in all my panic.  Olivia Newton-John turned immediately into Florence Nightingale.  Mrs C calmed me down, and then tucked me in on her couch.  A few minutes later, Mom came and retrieved me. The pending 911 call for a missing child intoxicated on Robitussin wasn't necessary.  Not this time anyway.