EDITORIAL: MY MOM, THE RIOTER.

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My mother was one of the first of the rioters in Jacksonville.

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I've been wondering for a long time how a retired sixty-seven year old woman with a passion for day lilies and knitting wound up allegedly beating a police officer to death and getting thrown in a containment tank.

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Last week, against all odds and at great personal risk, I managed to get her released into my care.

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I thought I could calm her down.

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When they gave her to me, she was straitjacketed and masked, like Hannibal Lecter.

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When I got her home I tried to remove the bindings, and she almost immediately tried to strangle me.

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It was all I could do to tie her back up and put her in the guest room.

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She still eats and drinks when I give her food, but I haven't seen her sleep.

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I don't know what that thing is in there, but it's not my mom.

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I hope she comes back soon.