My three kids each have two very distinct personalities. Of course, each has his or her own variation of these personalities, but, in general, a common theme exists depending on whether they are together or alone with me.

I don't think the Boston Tea Party would have ever happened if just one colonist decided to dress like a Mohawk and storm ships in Boston Harbor. That poor guy would have been kicked into the harbor himself, and the course of American history may have been entirely different. Instead, a mob of colonists stormed the ships full of tea. The sailors and ship owners made no effort to stop the mob and, in fact, handed over the keys to minimize damage to the locks, doors, and storage facilities of the ships.

So, it's safe to conclude a mob accomplished one of the single most important events in American history. If one lonely guy with a feather in his hair had tried to dump all that tea, then we may still be speaking with British accents saluting the Union Jack. Mobs create bravery and allow us to accomplish things we may not otherwise attempt. Some of those things are great, and other things…not so much. Either way, that mob mentality explains the difference in my kids' personalities.

Alone, my oldest daughter and I have stimulating conversations about life and Clemson football. My youngest daughter tells me about her friends, and she explains to me what playing center- back in soccer means. My son, the youngest of the crew, and I play checkers, read books, or toss a ball around. Individually, my children are complete angels for the most part, but having them individually is a rare occurrence. Most of the time my little angels are in their own little mobs, and that's when the angels lose their halos and sprout horns.

The transformation from individual to part of a crowd is almost as scary as Dr. Jeckyll morphing into Mr. Hyde or Bruce Banner turning green and growing muscles. That struggle to be heard, that competition for attention, that desire to annoy, that struggle for space, and that bravery that comes with company takes over, and suddenly my little angels turn into something less desirable than a school of piranha in a bathtub.

The noise level rises from peaceful conversation to something Steve Spurrier might want pumped into practice to prepare his offense for 90,000 screaming Gator fans. The energy level jumps from that of a favorite, cuddly Teddy bear to that of a 90- pound jackhammer, and the attitude goes from the comfort of soft cotton to the comfort of a wire brush.

The transformation is scary and quick. It's amazing how fast one of my children can go from holding my hand to holding a handful of a sibling's hair. It's the mob mentality.

Sometimes the mob turns on itself, and sometimes it turns on me, and. Either way, I've learned to just hand over the keys and get out of the way.