Mama On: Friends

"Good friends are a blessing:  Never take them for granted."

I am glad that I listened to my mother when she said this.  I am glad that I had the accidental foresight to choose my friends wisely, and that though I have had many of them for nearly half a century, they continue to shine and to appreciate in value.

Mamaknologists know that friends are a good thing.  My mother, Arbitor of All That Is Mamaknological, had two wonderful friends:  Ruth Luke and Eva Andrews.  They were everything friends are supposed to be.  Cute, sassy, and always ready to enjoy each other, these ladies taught me what friends were supposed to be.  They were the sisters my mother had been born without.  When my mother's health declined, they stepped in and stood her ground for her -- in stilettos.  When my knees grew weak and my footsteps faltered, they propped me up and pushed me forward.  They showed me what to look for in a friend.

Today, I mark the passing of my friend, Regina.  A special woman, one of the lynch pins of my sister circle, I miss her already.  A great mind, quick wit, and as silly as the day is long, I don't like to think that she ever had a "bucket list," but then, she didn't really need one.  Regina was a Mamaknologist and a believer in making every step count.  She was an amazing mother and an awesome wife.  And she was my friend.  She was my dear and loving friend.

Almost everyone I know has said, "Give me my roses while I'm alive," and we like to think we mean it.  I think that going forward, I'll be saying, "Give me the love of my friends," because I have been lucky enough to have that warm and secure circumstance in my life.  Regina and I once had a conversation about the value of saying, "I love you," and saying the words while they counted.  I am so glad that on more than one occasion, we had the chance to say, "I love you," and mean it. 

Yeah, she was my sister from another mister.

I will never be able to say that I've lost her, mostly because I cherished our friendship so deeply.  But it is in her passing that I am reminded and impelled to count another blessing: I am still here with so many of the women who are my friends, some of them from childhood.  And now, the Mamaknologist in me needs to let them know how much I love them, how much I cherish them, and how much of them I carry with me on every day of my life.

So to my much loved friends, I am reminded to say, I love you. 

I also need to say that for good, bad, or indifferent, your love makes me the woman I am --and I know that there's a little bit of me in your back pocket, too.

Love you, Girl!

Mama On: Hard Times And Books

"Easy comes after Do in the dictionary for a reason."

I have a headache.  My headache began when I turned the television on and saw a report that featured parents lamenting the coursework that their poor children were being forced to endure.  The tortured students were expected to learn to speak their native language, open up a book and read something that didn't come predigested on tape or dvd, perform basic math without computer or even calculator assistance, and regularly show up for classes.

What? 

Personally, I don't understand the hardship.  My mother was one of those people who had a hard time with asking for help -- especially if she had to do it more than once.  Okay, the reality is that if there was a book on the topic, she also figured that if you wanted to get the job done, you should read the directions.  Her philosophy was that God gave you enough tools to get through the life He planned for you, and that a person just needed to make the effort to use those tools: Mamaknology 101A. 

My mother believed that a person had to be proactive; you have to take action, not just lay back in the "cut" and let everyone else do the work.  These students and their parents have an historically unprecedented level of access, and seem determined to ignore it. Which brings us to Mamaknology 101B, and I got this straight from the lips of the world's preeminent Mamaknologist (my mother), if you take the easy way out, you deserve whatever you get -- a life on shut down.  No political access, no jobs, no social services.  Nothing. Are any of these students or their parents prepared for a life mired in abject ignorance? because that will be the result of an inability to read, write, and do simple arithmetic in the twenty-first century.

Support of ignorance is not a good thing.  I keep hearing young people say that they want to live their lives, their way.  I hear them say that they want to make their own mistakes.  Okay.  Fine.  But why do they have to make the stupid mistakes?  The ones that we all already know don't work well?

Here's a Mamaknological clue:  if you are determined to make mistakes, don't opt for a retread.  Don't opt for ignorance.  Don't forfeit your education.  Don't forfeit your right to vote.  Don't dabble in stupid -- it's not cute.

And I'm not afraid to say it because, what are you going to do?  Read this and write back?

 

Mama On: Taking Responsibility

"I see you!"

I was talking with a friend over dinner the other night and the conversation turned to the things people do when they don't think anyone is looking.  My friend is from Boston, and she talked about the evening she realized that her mother was ready to step up and take a stand for more than herself and her own children.

My friend was young, six or sevenish, and she and her very happy brother were headed to a neighborhood store for the treat their mother had promised -- popsicles!  Walking along, the way children do, they never noticed the staring man parked at the side of the street with his hand working busily in his lap.  But their mother did.

Knowing that all of the neighborhood children, including her own, took this walk regularly and the kinds of bad things that can happen to children at the hands of people who didn't mind sitting around and masturbating on city streets, she took action.  "Hey!," she shouted, "get out of here!"

When the man was slow to move, the petite Tiger Mama found a stray brick on the sidewalk and used it to punctuate her message.  The man realized that someone was determined to take responsibility for his actions, and drove away.

Now, even after being on the receiving end of a Mamaknological defense action, we don't know that the man never "did his thing" (oh, the pun...) again, but we do know that my friend learned a couple of life lessons on responsibility by watching her mother.  She learned that one person can make a difference, and that the person who sees the problem can fix it.

My own mother, the World's Preeminent Mamaknologist, used to look at men or women who openly urinated against building walls, masturbated in public, or slipped their hands into other people's purses and wallets, and deliberately announce, " I see you!"  Don't ever think that those three words are a law enforcement panacea, but they call attention to the action and make it clear that not everyone is going to let it go uncontested.  Not everyone who is caught doing something wrong will stop doing it; but the Mamaknological magic is that now that they have been seen, someone else knows that they are doing the wrong thing, and witnesses have power.

The Mamaknology here is that we must take responsibility for what we see.  We cannot ask someone else to take responsibility for those things we let slide, and that covers everything from the people who watch while a child is mistreated, to politicians who try to pretend that they never said or did what the video clearly says they said or did.  Don't speak up, and you have to take whatever comes.  Pretend not to see, and you leave the responsibility to someone else who may not give half a damn about you, your life, your family, or your community.

So, as a practicing Mamaknologist, I'm going on record here and now.  I care about me and the people I love.  I care about the world I live in.  And while I may not be ready to pitch a brick, Boston style, I am going to speak in my mother's words:

I see you.

Mama On: Resolution

"Figure out what you want to do, and then everyday, do at least one thing that will take you closer to your goal."

How easy does that sound?  Everyday, do just one thing to bring yourself closer to who and what you want to be.  The hard part is knowing what you really want and then moving toward it with consistent, faithful intention, and doing it everyday, not allowing life to get in the way of your goal.  Even harder for some of us is learning NOT to listen to people who tell us that we are wasting our time.

Whatever it is that gets in your way, you have to learn to ignore it, when you have a goal.  If fact, what you have to learn to do is resolve to do what it takes.  money, proximity, who you know, lessons, and personal style can all get in your way, but they should never be allowed to dictate where you go.  If you can't ignore the obstacle, then learn to step around it -- you have places to go and things to do.

My mother, the Premier Mamaknologist would tell you to sit down and do some hard thinking, and to be honest with yourself in the process.  Are you willing to work the extra hours, go back to school, submit to training, or just keep knocking on doors?  You may want to be a famous singer and believe that you have natural talent -- what are you going to do with it?  You may believe that you are destined to be a millionaire, you may even feel entitled to be one -- but how hard are you willing to work to get there?  How much are you willing to invest in yourself?

Once you know, make an action plan.

The Mamaknological take on this is a reprise of an old saying:  Fail to plan, plan to fail.  My personal Mamaknoligist would have told you that to fail to show up for yourself and your goals is a sure way to plan to fail.  

Me?  I'm working on my plan.  My next goal? Another novel...  Excuse me, my manuscript is calling.
    

Mama on: Watching Your Step

"Watch your step, honey."

Okay, we're going to make this one short and sweet.  I just got the funniest question from a friend's daughter:  "Why do you walk like that in heels?"

Answer:  Because I am a woman and my body is different from a man's, so I have to move with a certain sway, grace, and speed in these shoes.

Hmm...  Do I REALLY have to point out the Mamaknology in this?

 

Okay, just in case it went over anyone's head, the Mamaknology here is that a woman can't handle herself just any old kind of way when she steps out into the world -- and it doesn't matter whether she's wearing pumps, flip-flops, or going barefoot.  Women walk differently from men because of the way God made us -- you know, the wider pelvis and all that, but there's more.  Women are blessed with an intrinsic balance and grace, and that gives us an obligation.  It's up to us to figure out how to maintain and increase that balance and to manage it with grace, especially when we put our foot on the ground to make our moves through the world.

Girls can't do what the boys do and still be respected as women, and not every woman is a lady.  You have to learn to walk in the shoes you chose, and you have to make that walk count every day of your life. 

Simple.  Right?

 

Mama On: Coincidence

"Everything happens for a reason."

This year Fathers Day falls on June 19th, and June 19th has a lot of importance in my life.  My mother and father were married on June 19, 1949.  If they were both still with us, this would have been their sixty-second wedding anniversary.  Sixty-two is a lot of years and a lot can happen over that much time, but almost right up until the day he died, my father smiled when he talked about my mother.  At 87, he still called her his, "Baby."

As it was, my mother passed in 1985, giving them nearly thirty-five years together. You have to know that I totally appreciate being a product of that kind of love.  But it makes me stop and think... what if that tall, good-looking soldier had never met the pretty statuesque girl from Philly?  What if he hadn't had enough respect for her to learn who she really was and to treat her like a lady?  What if she had been more of a rump-shaker than a wife?  What if neither of them was interested in family?

   

After all of that, all I want to know is:  How in her infinite Mamaknowledge did she know?  Could it really have been a matter of coincidence, or did God make an unavoidable plan that resulted in their marriage and me getting here?

One summer night a long time ago, sitting on the back steps with my head in my mother's lap, I asked that question.  Daddy smiled and looked at my mother.  I watched her smile back at him and felt loved.  In her infinite Mamaknowledge, the answer was simple. "Everything happens for a reason." 

Now all these years later, I think I understand.  Yes, she was trying to fill in a blank for me, but being who and what we were, when and where wewere, being in the midst of love was no accident.  And I hae to say that I am glad -- and more than a little proud -- to be a part of the reason my parents found each other and stayed together. 

 

Mama On: Taking Care of Business

"Take care of your own business."

If you really take the time to pay attention, and follow through on all of the associated actions, this bit of Mamaknowledge makes perfect sense.  Really.  If you pay attention to all of the little details of your life, there is simply no time to mess around in anyone else's business.  And the nice thing about not having time to play around in other folks' lives is that there is no time for gossip, no time for envy, and (praise Jesus!) no time for screwing up someone else's life.

Don't get me wrong, my mother the Mamaknologist did her fair share of "communal observation," but she let it end with the last word of the conversation.  She didn't let it drag on beyond the chit-chat over coffee or in the grocery store aisle.  She didn't pull raggedy coversations over the back fence and then spend her days and weeks tripping over them.  And she didn't let me do it either.

I actually remember her terminating one of my phone conversations when I was in junior high.  Uhm, I hear you thinking, "Oh, no she didn't!"  Well, yes.  She did, and I had better sense than to make an issue of it.  I think I made a face when I thought she wasn't looking, though.

Then, I got a lecture.  Included in the lecture were such topics as:

• Who died and left me in charge?
• What happened to make me right and everyone else wrong?
• What right did I have to sit in judgment on anyone?
• Don't you have anything better and more profitable to do?
• Did you finish your homework yet?

And you've got to know that the last one was the one that was really important, right?  Anyway, you know that she actually stood there and made me answer all of those questions, right?  And of course the homework wasn't finished, but the whole incident made me think -- if I'd been doing the homework, I wouldn't have been on the phone and ... well ... caught.

Over time, I've applied this to a whole lot of other scenarios.  I take care of business first and chat later.  I have also noticed that gossip is a whole lot like lying -- if you listen to it, you'll almost always pass it on, and it will only get stronger with each passing.  And in the end, a whole lot of time gets wasted.  And what couldn't you do with a little more time? 

For one thing, you could take care of a little more of your own business.

     

Mama On: Love

"I'll kill a rock over my baby."

**Sigh**  I think that these are almost the sweetest words I ever heard from my mother.  In all of her wisdom, she found a way, to define love and motherhood in just a few completely understandable and indelible words. And isn't that what we trust and expect the Mamaknologists of our lives to do? 

My mother, the World's Premier Mamaknologist, not only had a way with words, she had a way with love.  Whenever she promised to kill rocks over me, I believed her.  I kid you not, I even believed her into and far beyond my, "you gotta prove it to me," teens.  And whenever challenged, she cloaked herself in love and showed up and showed out in that boldly amazing way that only women of color can do.

Never above or beyond taking a stand in her Mamaknowledge, my mother was there to climb the cherry tree I got stuck in when I was five.  She was there, almost before it happened, on the day I ran into a giant tree and broke my wrist, blacked my eye, busted my lip, and sustained a concussion.  She was right there the first time some big-headed boy broke my fragile little heart, and she was there when I declared my independence and left my childhood home to explore the world.

Born to love, I watched my mother lead our entire family into the foster care system.  I watched her take on three unwanted infants and love them into secure childhood.  One of the best examples of this love was a little boy who came into our home at two-months of age.  Born to a heroin and alcohol addicted mother and abandoned at the hospital, he was skinny and cried constantly.  His health was so tenuous that the hospital no longer wished to care for him, but my mother never gave it a second thought.  "I'll take him," she said.  The social worker worried that the child would have severe mental issues.  "He just needs love, and he's going to get it," my mother promised.  Then she did everything she could to be sure he did.

I guess this is a good time to tell you that my mother was 5'8" tall.  And I should remind you that she was determined that this child do more than survive.  She was determined that he would thrive.  So, when he refused to eat, she spent a day in the kitchen singing, cajoling, and urging.  He ate.  When he cried at night, fearing the dark and his crib, my mother climbed into the crib without a second thought and spent long sleepless nights helping a baby to find comfort and security.  He slept.  And never doubt that she spent months and years reciting nursery rhymes, singing songs, reading, and helping with lessons.  Mental issues were never a question -- her Mamaknowledge didn't allow it. 

Of course, you have to pick your battles in this life.  My mother's greatest battle was with her health, and it meant that she and my dad were unable to adopt the child because of their ages and her health, but the love contribution had been made.  That deposit of unstinting love from someone willing to kill a rock was a goo thing.  The funny part was that family friends wondered if I was jealous of the love my mother showered on her foster children.  I have always had only one answer:  No, why would I be?  My mother would kill a rock over me. 

One of those foster children is my daughter today, and I can celebrate the love bequethed me, and I have to tell her that diamonds are forever and so is my love for her.  I think I would kill rocks over her, because my mother taught me that love makes you able, but it goes even deeper.   Because my mother was willing to wield her Mamaknowledge, many of my friends are able to claim Grace by Exposure.  A lot of them are excellent women and superlative mothers, and I am flattered and proud when they salute my mother as a role model.  That's a good thing.

The Mamaknowledge lives on, and all because my mother was willing to take on the world and kill rocks over her baby. 

Happy Mother's Day.

Mama On: Thinking

"Did you hear what you just said?"

My mother, the World's Premier Mamaknologist, was really big on the power of words -- maybe that's where I got it from.  She believed that if you used words indiscriminately, it was kind of like screwing up a magical spell.  She believed that words had the power to hurt or to heal and she never understood why people would use them carelessly.  She believed that if you put the wrong words out into the world, the return would never be good or useful.  She believed that a lack of caution in the use of words could only bring confusion, waste, pain, and a sorry wash of ignorance.

I kinda think she was right.

Once, when I was around sixteen, I wanted to go to a party and she turned me down.  Flat.  I weedled, cajoled, pouted, and then turned to the angry tool of every teenaged girl, "Everybody else is going."  Of course she told me that she wasn't everybody else's mother: she was mine.  You know that didn't work, right?  I really wanted to go to that party, so I lashed out with, "It's not fair!"

And totally weary of my arguments, she finally turned from me and blurted, "Do what you want.  I don't care."  It took all of a second and a half for her to hear herself.  She turned back to me (and I thought I was going to die).  She looked me dead in the eyes and softly said, "Yes, I do."

I had no need for further clarification.  I knew exactly what she meant and I was glad to know that she did mean it.  In that very teachable Mamaknological Moment, I learned that my mother truly listened to me and wanted to know that I was listening to her.  I learned that my mother placed value in what I did, who I did it with, and where I did it.  I learned that my mother cherished my opinion of her -- enough to not only listen to what I said to her, but to also listen to what she said to me and how she said it.

As it happens, I did go to the party and I had a good time, too.  But the Mamaknology of the moment, that little listening turn from my mother taught me to be careful in the words that I use with others.  She taught me that making a statement of value is far different from just talking to fill space.  She taught me that while nature may in fact abhor a void, a loving relationship is worth a moment of deliberate thought.

We've all heard the old saying, 'think before you speak.'  Makes sense, doesn't it?  Hearing what you've said to another person and realizing the impact of your words takes a moment of deliberation -- not a whole lot of time in the Grand Scheme of Things.  I kinda think that we owe it to each other to literally weigh the impact of the words we use, and to realize that they can trigger the responses we get.   

The Mamaknology here is that a good life and full loving relationships are worth listening to the words that are coming out of your mouth.

        

Mama On: Friendship

"Be the friend you want to have."

I think I've already said that I am an only child.  So was my mother, and that leads me to wonder if being an only child is an intrinsic factor contributing to my onset of Mamaknology...

Anyway...

I am so glad that I was taught to select my friends carefully.  I am happy to say that I have friends that I have known and loved for most of my life and am still in touch with.  I am even more happy that I have friends who treat me the way that they want to be treated.  My friends, both male and female, over the years have become my siblings.  They have become my family, and with the loss of my parents, I treasure them greatly.

The Mamaknologist in me knows that my mother was right, we need friends who will stand with us for more than the next big sale at Macy's.  We need friends who will do more than hang out with us at the club -- in fact, we need friends who will tell us to stay the heck OUT of the clubs sometimes.  We need friends who are smarter than we are about ourselves sometimes -- whether we want to admit it or not.  We need friends who are too smart to not love us when we forget that we are worthy of love.  We simply need the kind of friends who want to be our friends.

And if we are lucky enough to have those kinds of friends, don't they deserve more than our raggedy and thoughtless baggage? 

My vote is that they do.  So... how about a random act of love for those friends.  This may be the day to send flowers, bake some cookies, make a phone call, or even fall on your knees and offer a sincere and heartfelt prayer for that exceptional friend of yours.  How about making this the day that you are the friend you'd like to have?

I'm just saying...

     

Mama On: Disaster And Faith

"Sometimes you just have to pray."

The news has played the disaster over and over, and it is beyond anything any of us can imagine.  People are wondering how and why God would let anything happen like the earthquake and tsunami that swept Japan.  There have even been the terrifying recordings of the earth rumbling before the horrific events, and it is awesomely frightening -- a reminder of how small and insignificant we are in God's Grand Scheme. 

The amazing thing, after the earth stopped moving and the water receeded, has been the grace and efficiency the Japanese people have shown in their recovery efforts.  There has been a request for international support and the nuclear implications are more than scary, but the survivors are carrying on.  The weather is cold and thousands have been found dead, but there is something else.  Something that is incredibly atypical of events like this. 

We are not hearing about looting, fighting for food and water, price gouging, or other social abuses.

We are hearing requests for prayer for the people and the nation.  We are hearing about the daily prayer and the groups who come together to pray.  We are hearing more and more about the school children who gather to offer prayer for the souls of those lost to the disaster.  We are even hearing that members of the rescue groups are wearing traditional prayers in and on their uniforms as they face the rescue attempts.

Somehow, I don't think that this is an acident or coincidental.  I think that this might be called faith, and the true Mamaknologist understands and appreciates the biblical definition of faith:  Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1) 

The true Mamaknologist understands that faith is not faith until it is all you have.  Moreover, the true Mamaknologist understands that the only way to go forward after disaster is with the assurance and confidence that God hears and answers our prayers.  This is one of those times when we all just need to pray.  My prayers are with the people of Japan for recovery, for health, and for the determination to continue to hold fast to their prayers and their faith.

Amen.

 

Mama On: Daddy

Leon McFarland
1923-2011

"You only get one -- and one should be enough."

I was fifteen when my mother said this, and I have to believe that in and with all of her Mamaknowledge she knew that this day would come.  My daddy passed last night.

As sad as that is, it is more cause for celebration than for sadness.  At age 87, he'd covered a lot of ground -- most of it good.  A soldier, business owner, artist, husband, and father, he was mine.  And while he might not have been the best father in the world:  God knows that he would never have passed for Ward Cleever ("Leave It To Beaver"), or Cliff Huxtable ("The Bill Cosby Show").  My father was one heck of a Great Daddy. 

I wish that everbody could have a Great Daddy. 

I think on it now, and I know without a doubt that I am a reflection of what he was to and for me.  Because of my daddy, I understand teamwork.  He took me to ball games and explained the rules to me.  Because of my daddy, I understand physical strength.  He taught me to ride bikes and hit golf balls straight -- especially when I didn't want to.  Because of my daddy, I understand patience.  He helped me plant and nurture those little plants in my first gardens.  Because of my daddy, I understand the eloquence of color and balance.  He wa a gifted painter and sketch artist who never laughed at my efforts. 

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always sunshine and lollipops.  We had our trials, some of them bordering on epic, but we always found our way back to each other.  Maybe because my daddy incidently and just as a function of being who he was taught me courage of conviction.  Or maybe it was because he taught me that fear was only a reaction to a moment, not a life plan.  There is a ton of other stuff I could remember, but I think that I will stop here because I want this to be a little celebration of Daddy/Daughter love.  And I just want to remember that my mother was right: you do only get one.  But when it's done right, one is all you need.

Love you, my One and Only Daddy.
 

Mama On: Falling In Like

"Every pot needs a lid."

Okay.  This, again, is not totally original but my mother had a specific Mamaknological point to make when she said it to me.  My mother loved the concept of love.  She was completely dediated to the ideas of care, passion and fidelity.  More than that, she really liked my father.  She thought he was funny, smart, creative, and pretty darned good-looking.  The fact that he was crazy about her was icing on the cake.  She loved that my father was as enamored of her a she was of him, and she wanted that for me.

Heck, I want that for me.  Don't you want it for you?

Anyway, I remember once asking her HOW to fall in love.  I was about 13 and saw other girls with boyfriends and they all seemed to be in love, but the boys they chose seemed less than desireable to me.  Not that the boys were failing to make advances ... they did, but they were just the same little boys I'd always known.  Not one of them felt like anyone destined to be the Love of My Life.  Where was THE ONE for me?  When would he show up?  Would he ever show up?  Did he even exist?

Yes, my personal Mamaknologist assured me.

Yes, what?

"Yes, the right boy is out there for you and some day he will be the right man for you.  You'll know him because what you have with him will be different from the fun times you've had with every other friend in your life.  He will show you that it is good and right to trust him, that you are safe with him, and that being with him will make your life better in every way.  It may take a while, but you will find each other because every pot has a lid, but you're going to like him a lot.  And you've got to like your lid before you can find love with him."

It really is funny how the older we get, the wiser our parents become.  Over time, we all slide into like with a lot of people for a lot of different reasons, but it is rare that like ripens into anything sweeter.  When it does, wow, pots can find lids. 

I think my pot may have finally found the right lid -- not what I thought it would be, but definitely a good fit.  Only time will tell.  The lesson in Mamaknology that I am taking from this is that any relationship is worth the investment of time and that if you can't / won't / don't LIKE the person, you will never find a way to love them.  I've learned that even if it feels like the right person is never going to show up, you have to like the people around you.  Falling in like is the first step to falling and staying in love.

Mama On: Happy

"Some days you just have to smile; and some days, you should."

Ever have one of those days when you just wake up with inexplicable joy in your heart and a silly smile on your face?  Pretty much everybody has had one, but we don't remember or cherish them as often as we ought to.  My mother, the original Mamaknologist, thought that we ought to count those days and moments as special opportunities and then spend them liberally on sad, dark days.

I can remember walking into a hospital room to find her sitting in a hospital bed smiling dreamily.  It was on a day when nothing had gone right -- including her routine doctor's visit.  Her blood pressure was climbing rapidly toward stroke level and the doctor had moved to have her immediately hospitalized -- yet there she sat, smiling like a woman gifted with the keys to the Kingdom.

Before I could even ask, she turned the smile on me and said, "Some days you just have to smile." 

For just that one sliver of time, it came clear for me, and I did smile.  In fact, I totally got it, and it made me happy.  The Mamaknowledge of the moment was simple:  even if this was our last moment together, at least we had it.  If this was our last moment together, we could smile about it and share it, and that was a good thing.  This moment was good and we could smile because it made us happy.

All these years later, I can still feel the soft brush of her fingers on my skin and the warmth of her hand in mine and it makes me happy.  I am so glad to have had that oddly happy moment with my mother and it makes me smile.  The Mamaknology of our moment was that you should take your happy where you find it, and you should cherish it just for the glow it gives you. 

Happy is a Good Thing.

 

Mama On: Mothering

"What the daughter does, the mother did.  I hope you took notes."

Being a mother is hard work -- overtime work for some, and my mother took the job seriously.  As a direct response to her seriousness and focus on what she saw as her job, I too take the treatment of  children seriously.  So, I've got to tell you that it was kind of rough to hear the verbal abuse a mother saw fit to heap on the head of a little girl who couldn't have been any more than three or four years old.

Living in Atlanta I take MARTA, the public transportation system, a lot.  I got on the train and sat in the seat in front of a cute little girl and a young woman who was obviously her mother.  As I sat, the young woman scolded the child for pretty much everything she could think of, including breathing too loudly.  Her tirade grew angrier and louder as the train rumbled on and without turning, I could feel the little girl shrinking.  When the woman ran out of just about everything else she could have said, she blurted, "You funny looking thing." 

"Thing?"  Really?

This made me turn to look at her and the child.  Neither of them was, "funny looking."  They were both healthy and neatly dressed, care had been taken and given.  They were both clean and seemed well fed.  In fact, the little girl was quite cute, but like I said, she bore  very strong resemblance to her mother, which led me to blurt out a little bit of truth on my own... 

"She looks just like you."

Okay, admittedly the words had barely crossed my lips when I had a moment when all I could think of was, "uh-oh..."  But looking into that woman's eyes, there was nothing else for the Mamaknologist in me to do.  It was true, the child did look like her.  From the look on her face, I had no doubt she knew it, and now she knew that I did, too.  And I knew something else.  I knew that it was obviously true that the young woman was only doing what she had seen done and what had been done to her.  She was simply sharing the kind of treatment she had probably recieved and seen during her young life.  And she had clearly taken notes.

My mother would have said that all the daughter had actually done was to be a child.  She did what children do and as a result, she was taught that simply being a little girl would make her mother angry.  She was taught that her very existence was an inconvenience.  She was taught that the person she was probably most dependent upon resented her presence.  But, I'll bet that if I'd had the presence of mind to ask, they would have both told me that they loved each other.

That has to be confusing.

So the Mamaknologist take on this is that we need to be very careful what we teach our daughters because they will love us, and they will imitate us.  At some point in time, whether they know it or not, they will pass on our teachings to the next generation of daughters.  And if it is fact that we reap what we sow, it is our job to be our best so that our daughters will learn, love, support, and to do well from our lessons. 

Don't ever forget:  They're taking notes.

 

Mama On: What Goes Around

"Always plant good seeds."

I was twenty-one and right out of college when this story began. I had just taken on my first teaching job at an inner city school in my hometown of Cleveland, Ohio. At first glance, the job was everything that a Special Education teacher could ask for: challenging, goal-based with clear objectives, and working across a broad span of elementary education. In reality, I was faced with a shortage of supplies, limited parental support, and twenty socially promoted first through fourth graders who’d never met anyone quite like me – a brand new teacher who thought learning was “The Bomb”!

It took a minute, make that six weeks, for me to realize that a lot of my students had a less than firm grip on the basics. But that was okay, I was ready with a plan. I brought my Mother the Mamaknologist and my Grandmother to school with me – and of course, my grandmother brought home baked goodies. My Grandmother was a fabulous cook and an even better baker, so her presence bought me a little respect. But, when that wasn’t quite enough, I showed up for Show And Tell in my karate gi, complete with my newly earned brown belt and punched and kicked and yelled and broke boards, “just like in the movies.”

I got respect.

Thrilled that my class was paying attention and making huge strides, I turned my attention to one little girl who couldn’t seem to find her way. “Patty” was a ten year old fourth grader without a clue. She had no real idea of what to do with the alphabet, couldn’t spell anything beyond her own name, had yet to even complete a first grade reader, and had no understanding of math basics. The scary part was that because she was pretty and quiet, she was expected to move on to the fifth grade – because she was never disruptive.

I hated that!

As far as I could see, “Patty” was about to be victimized by social promotion within the school system. She was about to be set adrift on a sea of confusion, and destined to an adulthood of failure. That was not only unfair, it was just flat out wrong and nobody was showing up to fight this battle for her. So I came up with another plan.

I called her mother and convinced her to send “Patty” to school without breakfast. Of course, my own mother considered this to be cruel and unusual punishment, but you would be surprised to learn what a child will do and how focused they can become over a bowl of Trix in the morning. Throw in some fruit and milk, and you can come close to genius. “Patty” not only learned the alphabet, she learned addition and subtraction. She learned the required “sight words” and began to read independently. You can believe that I was doing The Dance Of Joy by the end of the semester when “Patty” actually passed the required proficiency exams. She was ready for the fifth grade!

Understandably, not everyone shares the same sources of joy, but I thought surely this child’s mother would share my enthusiastic happiness over “Patty’s” achievement. Unfortunately, when I sent a note home offering to tutor “Patty” over the summer, her mother didn’t think it was a good thing.

“Not so long as you are black,” she told me over the phone, “do you ever send another note home to me about that little dummy. It’s not my fault she’s stupid.”
I will never forget those words, or how hard I cried after that woman dumped them in my ear. I’m going to be black for the rest of my life, and at that age, it seemed like far too long to punish a child for anything. A much loved only child, I had never heard an adult, especially a parent, speak so harshly – not about their own child. My mother tried to comfort me, but those words will forever haunt me.
“You did your best,” my mother told me. “You gave her something and filled a place where there was nothing, and that was the right thing to do.”

Believing my mother, I let it go, and of course life went on. I transitioned from teaching to social service and wound up living in Atlanta, Georgia, but I never forgot “Patty”. A little more than fifteen years later, I worked for the Department of Family and Children Services and was concerned about my mother’s health. She had developed Coronary Artery Disease and was hospitalized in Cleveland.

I was at work when my desk phone rang. My stomach dropped and I stopped everything to answer. The caller was my mother, and she sounded happier and more excited than any woman sitting in a hospital bed was supposed to be. “I have someone who wants to talk to you,” she said.

“Me?” Hand shaking, I went into silent prayer mode.

“It’s my nurse.” I heard rustling and low conversation as my mother handed over the phone.

“Hello?” The voice was soft and sweet, calming in timbre. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but you were my fourth grade teacher.”

All of the breath went out of me.

It was “Patty”.

I could hear the smile in her voice as she explained seeing the patient name and remembering it. I loved the warmth in her voice as she described coming into the room and seeing the patient for the first time. She said that she saw the same features that she recalled, but wasn’t sure about the patient’s age: “I can read, add, and subtract now,” she giggled, bringing tears to my eyes.

When she finally talked to the patient, she was excited to learn that the woman in the bed was my mother. And my Mamaknology-wielding mother, with her brilliant memory, fully remembered her. “Patty” said that when my mother offered to call me, she felt like she’d won the lottery. “How does that happen? That you find people who care, and then you get to say ‘thank you’?” she wondered out loud.

Then she stole my breath again. “Thank you,” she whispered into the phone. “Thank you.”

And I thanked her, because my mother said that “Patty” was an amazing nurse, caring and conscientious. “… born to do something like this,” she said.

I am so grateful to have been able to witness and participate in just a tiny part of what made that little girl into a woman, and I am more than glad to have planted a good seed in her, because what goes around really does come back around – this time for the good.

 

Mama On: Gossip

"Don't believe everything you hear."

Okay, we all know that my mother (the original Mamaknologist) was good for coming up with sayings, but Ben Franklin got her on this one. Ben said, "Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear."

Unless you've been under a rock, we have all heard what was said about Shirley Sherrod over the past week or so... And this was a bit of ugly, crude, mean gossip that the world could have done without.

You remember: Rightwing blogger, Andrew Brietbart and Fox news released a tiny clip (less than 20-seconds) of a speech made by Sherrod at an NAACP meeting. Brietbart intentionally choose words geared to bigotry, tagged it racism, and released it to the world. The clip showed Sherrod saying that she had not used the full force of her power to help a white rural farmer.

Of course we later learned that her father had been killed in a racially motivated incident and that she surmounted her personal pain and provided the best possible service to the farmer and his family. We also learned that she uses the incident as a teaching tool for her staff and her community.

And we only learned this after the farmer and his wife (who still own the farm that she helped them save) made their thoughts known. "Something in the woodpile ain't clean," the now elderly man insisted. His wife went on to tell every listening source that Sherrod was being unfairly persecuted and vilified.

It was not until AFTER Sherrod was badgered into resigning that the truth surfaced, OMG are there ever red faces aplenty!

Sherrod hasn't decided what she plans to do, whether she will return to her job or not, but I'm betting that there will be lawsuits to match the ever-growing stack of apologes. And there should be... And, yes, the government and the country as a whole should consider this teachable moment as an opportunity to reflect upon knee-jerk judgements and mudslinging in media and politics.

But what do you want to bet that Brietbart and a few others are wishing that they had taken Ben Franklin's advice?

Mama On: Labels

"Don't let labels define you."

The first time I remember hearing my mother say this I was really young, maybe five or six years old, and I don't remember what it was linked to. But I do remember being ten years old and having my earnest parents try to explain the 'n' word -- and for some reason, my mother felt the need to tell me that the 'n' word was a label. She also told me that it was a label that I would always have control over, that no one could ever apply it to me if I didn't allow them to.

I liked that. As a matter of fact, I took it to heart and have applied it to all other areas of my life. This bit of Mamaknology allows me to hold my head high and live a life of dignity in spite of the ugliness I have to traverse to get to who I am meant to be. I really like that.

And it makes sense to me. I don't understand why others don't get it.

Okay, in the real world, maybe I do understand. But I don't want to. I don't want to understand that people are so desperate for attention that they will subject themselves to criticism, ridicule, vulgarity, and even assault to get it. I don't want to understand that people think so little of themselves that they will objectify themselves in an effort to claim an identity.

Case in point: I was on the train and a young(ish) woman boarded. She was short and carrying a good bit of weight. She wore tight jeans and a tee shirt with her label on it. On the shirt, in BIG letters, splayed all across her ample bustline and thick torso, her label said: "I've Got An Ass That Can SWALLOW A G-String!"

And while the observation was obviously correct, why did she think she had to share it? Now, I know that the trend is to embrace the obvious, but this was ridiculous. Faced with less than respectful treatment, we all know that this woman would have objected, but yet there she was out in the world labeling herself. And while her shirt might have been an intimate joy to be shared with a significant other, was it really meant to be dsplayed on public transportation?

The Mamaknologist in me has to agree with my mother. This was a label that, especially if she enjoyed it, should have been kept private. For some reason, this woman didn't get the idea that the label she was willingly applying to herself was going to define how she was received in the world, that people would treat her in the manner she showed herself to them. She didn't get it that if she showed herself as less than valuable, she would not be received or perceived as valuable.

I'm gonna guess that this goes back to childhood (so much does, right?). That maybe this woman lacked nurturing... Okay, I feel you rolling your eyes. At some point we have to nurture and cherish ourselves. At some point, we have to take stock of the labels we are willing to accept and act as whole people to realize them. I don't want to be known as the dirty, the crude, or the stupid one. And goodness knows, I don't want to be known for my behind's facility for swallowing g-strings.

Oh, and I forgot to tell you, the woman wearing that tee shirt was the recipient of several off-color comments before she got off the train. Not only did she try to ignore the comments, she even seemed to be offended by some of them (but you already knew that, didn't you?).

  

Mama On: Keeping Your Mouth Shut (Sometimes...)

"Everything you think, you don't say."

Okay, for the pragmatic 21st century Mamaknologist, this may seem almost absurd. But on the other hand, it might be regarded as common sense. Think about it . . .

When is the last time someone said something to you, a "back-handed" compliment, if you will -- and you wanted to slap the spit out of them? But you thought about it, decided you didn't want to spend the night (or the rest of your life) in jail, and parted your lips to say . . . Nothing. And the biggest reason you said nothing was because (as my mother, the Original Mamaknologist would have told you) there was nothing to gain by speaking your mind.

I mean really, what can you do about situations like when people who owe you money have the nerve to get mad at you -- yes, you could sue, but remember that they already don't have the money to pay you. Or what about the folks who are determined to be rude and vulgar? They already know that they are rude and vulgar, and because they don't have a clue how to be anything else, they make everybody else's life miserable. And lest I forget, what about the people who bring chldren into the world and then refuse to parent them? So, of course you have to be victimized by the random disorder caused by the heathens (parents and children).

So, what do you do?

Mostly, you keep your mouth shut because one word would result in a few hundred too many. A lof of folks will turn their heads and go socially deaf and mute Personally, I take the Mamaknologist route -- I quietly lose my mind. Yes, I turn into that sweet and determined little old lady who speaks softly to the problem and then smiles at the perpetrator(s). I used to see my mother and my grandmothers do this and it looked crazy, but it rarely failed to bring about the desired result -- temporary order out of social and emotional chaos.

So, in my many years of studying Mamaknology Theory, what I have learned is this: you don't have to tell folks exactly what you think of them (and every other lousy human they have ever encountered) to get them to shape up and act right. You don't have to slap anyone hard enough to make thieir grandchldren flinch to make a point. And you don't have to rant and rave to put the fear of God in a "bad" child or errant parent.

You do have to pick your battles and your words carefully, though. You have to learn to be a person who can walk in this world armed with enough love and respect to choose your words and actions appropriately. You do have to think before you speak -- and sometimes you have to bite your tongue, because you are not here alone.

Mama On: Random Acts Of Kindness

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you -- just because you can."

You already know that this is the Mamaknologist take on the Golden Rule, and I already know that your mother probably gave you the same guidance because... well... it really is the right thing to do for all of the right reasons. But it just struck me today that maybe this is one of those "bringing the universe into alignment" things. Oddly, this is the second week in a row that I have consciously left home to do something of benefit to my community and wound up doing something completely random that was of undeniable service to another. And it happened because it was the right thing to do.

I do some work with a community blood pressure project, and I thought that I did it because of all that I have learned from my own family health history. (Uhm, and by the way, do you know YOUR numbers? I'm just sayin'...) Anyway, I was on my way to a screening event and I got lost. As it happened, the man that I asked for directions gave them to me, but he didn't look well. He asked me what I was going to do, and I told him about the screening and that the case I was carrying held my b/p equipment (no, he didn't ask).

Blood Pressure? he finally did ask, and I said yes, then asked if I should take his, and he said yes. So I did. And as you've probably already guessed, it was at stroke level. He rubbed his head and said that the reading did not surprise him. While he refused medical care, he did promise to see his doctor asap and resume his medicine. In perfect world, he did, and my stopping to take that reading helped.

Today I took the train to another event and of all things, got off at the wrong stop -- just in time to hear a newly diagnosed blind woman yelling for help. Everyone else in the station seemed oblivious to her plight, so I went back, offered my arm and led her to her stop on another level. The happy part of this is that a lovely young woman stepped up as I was trying to find someone going toward the blind lady's stop. This young woman was bright, pleasant, and willing to help the blind lady on the next leg of her journey.

See what I mean? Random. It was just all about being in the right place at the right time. And that brings me to another bit of Mamaknology: God never puts you where you're not supposed to be.

Especially when it comes to Random Acts Of Kindness.