Ever since I was in college, I’ve been told, “Women need to be able to defend themselves…..”  “Arm yourself with a weapon or at least some mace….”  “Consider taking a self-defense course…”  “Are you aware of your surroundings at all times…..?”

I know you all have heard these same statements and been asked the same questions.

It is true.

We, women, need to protect ourselves from predators and be on guard.

But what about protecting ourselves against………well, ourselves?

After leaving college, I returned to live in Atlanta.  One day while visiting my grandmother, she decided that I needed to be able to protect myself and handed over a large canister of mace.  Now this was not your typical key chain size can; this looked like an aerosol can of air freshener, large button on top with no lock or other safety feature – about the size of tear gas projectiles you see being bazooka’d into buildings in movies.

I asked my grandmother, “Nana, are you sure this is mace?  I’ve never seen this size before and they always have a lock on the button so you don’t accidentally squirt it when you don’t want to.”

She replied, “Yes, it’s mace.  We were having a meeting at X,Y,Z Club and the program was safety for seniors and the police officers gave us all one of these large cans of mace.  I think you need it more than I do.  Just be sure you know where you keep it so you’ll have it.”

So that was that – I now had mace and knew I had a weapon to protect myself.

After our visit, I put the canister of mace in my glove compartment and on I went with life.

Fast forward several years.

I still had the canister of mace; I somehow managed to hold onto it and never had to use it.

I married.

Still had the canister of mace.

In my glove compartment.

We had two sons.

…Still had the mace.

After we had our youngest son, we bought a white Taurus station wagon – complete with the rumble seat in the back.  And with all car changeovers, I had to get all my “car stuff” situated in all my storage compartments, but especially in the center console right next to me, you know, the driver: the boys’ Barney and Pooh tapes, wipes, hand sanitizer, spare pacifiers, Band-Aids, tissues, and of course, the can of mace.

During this time, our oldest son was 2 years old plus, plus and our youngest was about 18 months old.  Our church had a little Moms Day Out program that our oldest son went to just two days a week at that time.  It was a warm spring day, and after playing with the baby all morning and finishing up lunch, it was time to go and pick up Brother.

Since this was pre-airbag days, the baby rode up front with me in his car seat as my co-pilot.  So into the car, strapped in, car cranked and ready to go are we.  But first, we needed a Pooh tape to get us to the church – just 5 miles up the road.  I rummaged through the center console, found the baby’s Pooh tape, shut the console, “Music, Mr. Maestro” and off we go.

We are only about 2 blocks from our house, when I hear, “Sssssssssssssssssssssssssss.”

I thought maybe my window was down just a little bit; I checked all the windows and they were closed.  Tight.

Pooh is singing.

“Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.”

I turned the music down.  The baby gave me the look.

 I turned the music back up.

The baby was happy.

“Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.”

The baby began to cough and hack.

“Cough. Hack.”

My eyes starting burning.

The baby is coughing and spitting now.

My eyes and throat are burning.

As I am driving down the road, I continue to hear “Sssssssssssssssssssssssss” and decide to open the center console compartment – since this is where I am now hearing the “Sssssssssssssss”ing coming from.

Upon lifting the compartment door, a huge cloud of mace escaped and filled the entire car.

The baby is screaming, hacking, coughing and I can no longer see.

I had managed to pull off of the road into the grass of what I later realized was the actual front yard of a home on the road near our subdivision.  I somehow managed to get out of the car, now blind, and ran around to the other side and got the baby out as well.  I left all the doors open to the car in an effort to get the maced atmosphere cleared out.

Meanwhile, there I was on the side of the road – eyes swollen shut, tears streaming down my face, hacking and holding the baby who is coughing and gagging – I’m coughing, crying and trying to fan our faces with my hand.  The only upside to the cars that were flying by and not stopping to offer any assistance was the fact that the cars were creating wind that was, in effect, blowing the cloud of mace away.

Fifteen to twenty minutes of coughing, gagging and crying later………we are back in the car heading to pick up Brother.

The baby is somewhat calmed with an occasional post-crying quiver but with VERY red and swollen eyes and looking at me with this total look of, “Why did you do that to me?”

Upon arriving to pick up Brother – everyone we saw had to ask, “Oh, are y’all okay?  What’s wrong?  What happened….?”  The list of questions seemed endless but only because they cared………

I could not believe it.

I had maced my baby and myself.

Worse than that, I had to reveal the shame.

We all need a little self defense?

Seems I need only defense against myself!

Harriette Keen Jacobs

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