Free The Blind Side by Michael Lewis

gym,” said the boy.
As they drove off, Sean looked over and saw tears streaming down Leigh Anne’s face. And he thought: Uh-oh, my wife’s about to take over.
The next day afternoon, Leigh Anne left her business—she had her own interior decorating outfit—turned up at Briarcrest, picked up the kid, and took off with him. A few hours later, Sean’s cell phone rang. He picked up and heard his wife’s voice on the other end of the line:
“Do you know how big a fifty-eight long jacket is?” she asked.
“How big?”
“Not big enough.”
Leigh Anne Tuohy had grown up with a firm set of beliefs about black people but had shed them for another—and could not tell you exactly how it happened, other than to say that “I married a man who doesn’t know his own color.” Her father, a United States Marshal based in Memphis, raised her to fear and loathe blacks as much as he did. (Friends who saw Tommy Lee Jones in the movie U.S. Marshal would say to her, “Oh my God, that’s your father!”) The moment the courts ordered the Memphis Public School system integrated, in 1973, he pulled her out of public school and put her into the newly founded Briarcrest Christian School, where she’d become a member of the first graduating class. “I was raised in a very racist household,” she said. As her father walked her up the aisle so that she might wed Sean, he looked around the church, filled with Sean’s black ex-teammates, and asked, “Why are all these niggers here?” Even as an adult, when she mentioned in passing that she was on her way into a black neighborhood on the west side of Memphis for some piece of business, he insisted on escorting her. “And when he comes to get me, he shows up with this magnum strapped to his chest.”
Yet by the time Michael Oher arrived at Briarcest, Leigh Anne Tuohy didn’t see anything odd or even awkward in taking him in hand. This boy was new; he had no clothes; he had no warm place to stay over Thanksgiving Break. For Lord’s sake, he was walking to school in the snow in shorts, when school was out of session, on the off chance he could get into the gym and keep warm. Of course she took him out and bought him some clothes. It struck others as perhaps a bit aggressively philanthropic; for Leigh Anne, clothing a child was just what you did if you had the resources. She had done this sort of thing before, and would do it again. “God gives people money to see how you’re going to handle it,” she said. And she intended to prove she knew how to handle it.
For Leigh Anne, the mystery began once Michael climbed into her gray minivan. “He got in the car and didn’t say anything,” she said. “Not one word.”
“Tell me everything I need to know about you,” she said.
She noticed his sneakers—all beat-up and raggedy.
“Who takes care of you?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ve noticed in the African American community the grandmother often helps to raise the kids. Do you have a grandmother?”
He didn’t, but he didn’t explain.
This wouldn’t do. Leigh Anne Tuohy was an extreme, and seemingly combustible, mixture of tenderness and willfulness. She cried when a goldfish died. On her daily walks, when she spotted an earthworm sizzling on the sidewalk, she picked it up and put it back on the grass. On the other hand, when a large drunk man pushed and cut his way in front of her in a line outside a football game, she grabbed him by the arm and screamed, “You just get your fat ass right back where it belongs. Now!” When she did things like this, her husband would shrug and say, “You have to understand that my wife has a heart the size of a pea. If you cross her, she will step on your throat and take you out and she won’t feel a thing.” Sean had decided, no matter what the potential gains, it was never worth provoking his wife.
And this child’s reluctance to answer her questions had provoked her. “We’re gonna keep talking about this,” she said. “We can do this