My grandmother was an iron-willed woman, the feared matriarch of our New York family back in the 1950s.

When I was five years old, she invited some friends and relatives to her Bronx apartment for a party. Among the guests was a neighborhood big shot who was doing well in business. His wife was proud of their social status and let everyone at the party know it. They had a little girl about my age who was spoiled and very much used to getting her own way.

Grandmother spent a lot of time with the big shot and his family. She considered them the most important members of her social circle and worked hard at currying their favor.

At one point during the party, I made my way to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. A minute or two later, the little girl opened the bathroom door and grandly walked in. I was still sitting down.

"Don't you know that little girls aren't supposed to come into the bathroom when a little boy is using it!?" I hollered.

The surprise of my being there, along with the indignation I had heaped upon her, stunned the little girl. Then she started to cry. She quickly closed the door, ran to the kitchen, and tearfully complained to her parents and my grandmother.

Most of the partygoers had overheard my loud remark and were greatly amused by it. But not Grandmother.

She was waiting for me when I left the bathroom. I received the longest, sharpest tongue-lashing of my young life. Grandmother yelled that I was impolite and rude and that I had insulted that nice little girl. The guests watched and winced in absolute silence. So forceful was my grandmother's personality that no one dared stand up for me.

After her harangue was over and I had been dismissed, the party continued, but the atmosphere was much more subdued.

Twenty minutes later, all that changed. Grandmother walked by the bathroom and noticed a torrent of water streaming out from under the door.

She shrieked twice—first in astonishment, then in rage. She flung open the bathroom door and saw that the sink and tub were plugged up and that the faucets were going at full blast.

Everyone knew who the culprit was. The guests quickly formed a protective barricade around me, but Grandmother was so furious that she almost got to me anyway, flailing her arms as if trying to swim over the crowd.

Several strong men eventually moved her away and calmed her down, although she sputtered and fumed for quite a while.

My grandfather took me by the hand and sat me on his lap in a chair near the window. He was a kind and gentle man, full of wisdom and patience. Rarely did he raise his voice to anyone, and never did he argue with his wife or defy her wishes.

He looked at me with much curiosity, not at all angry or upset. "Tell me," he asked, "why did you do it?"

"Well, she yelled at me for nothing," I said earnestly. "Now she's got something to yell about."

Grandfather didn't speak right away. He just sat there, looking at me and smiling.

"Eric," he said at last, "you are my revenge."

中文翻译：

　　20世纪50年代我们家住在纽约，当时祖母是一家之主，也是一个令人敬畏的强悍女人。

　　我5岁那年，她邀请了一些亲戚朋友到布朗克斯的公寓里聚会。在客人中有个做生意发了财的大款，他的妻子神气地向大家炫耀他们家的社会地位。他们有个娇气的小女儿，年纪跟我差不多，脾气很蛮横。

　　祖母殷勤地伺候着那个大款和他的家人，她把他们看作是她的社交圈里最重要的人物，因此她不遗余力地逢迎他们。

　　晚会进行中，我走进了洗手间并随手把门关上。大概一两分钟后，我当时还坐在马桶上，那个小女孩推开洗手间的门，大模大样地走了进来。

　　“难道你不知道当一个男孩在使用洗手间的时候女孩子是不可以进来的吗！？”我生气地嚷着说。

　　听到我生气的吼声，她一下子惊呆了，然后“哇”的一声哭了起来。她飞快地关上门向厨房跑去，边哭边向她的父母和我的祖母告状。