His face was red, his mouth a sneer. I don't remember specifically what the fight was about, but I do remember one thing he said. Angry, grounded, and lashing out, my son reached deep into his bag of insults and produced: “You're a witch, Mom!” A look of triumph twinkled in his eye. What a sick burn. I was supposed to be hurt, I'm sure. Instead, I laughed. “You're going to have to try harder than that.” As he seethed, I tried not to smile. “A witch is a wise woman. She's crafty and learned. She's seen a lot of things, and not much scares her. Yes, son. Your mom is definitely a witch.” I never thought I'd say that. Ever.