Hey, how could they resist cuddling a cute little rascal that didn’t hesitate to make a snack pack out any nursing sister’s breast? Oops, I’m not ready for The Twilight Zone theme yet, because I’m going somewhere with this. First, mayhap, I should do a psyche check. Since some of my readers “saintly” mommas are ugly as home made sin, they don’t play the dozens. Parents should be their kids’ parent, rather than their friend notwithstanding, please tell me—honestly-- if you would like your momma as a person if she wasn’t your mother? Hey, ain’t no use of you reacting like I’ve drifted into The Outer Limits of blasphemy. You brothers and sisters who moved to other cities (because you didn’t want to be in proximity to your domineering, yet loving “Mudder Dears” that think your business is their business), know where I’m coming from.
Ergo, since Mother’s Day is an ideal time to do some deep soul searching about parent-child relationships, thus, I ask you again: If your mother wasn’t your mother, would you like her enough to hang with her like you hang with your best friend? Yeah, I hear you silly-dilly brothers and sisters regurgitating that inane psycho-babble, “What’s wrong with parents today, is that they want to be their children’s friend, rather than risk alienating them by being a good parent.” Hey, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. For real, me and my momma were soul-mates. We both were Capricorns whose birthday were four days apart (January 7th and 11th respectively.) Furthermore, we both were as crazy as hell. Square business, we both did the same things over and over and expected different results.
Hark! Get that amazed look off your face, until I make you feel where I’m coming from. First and foremost, my mother and I really liked each other. We loved being together and doing things with and/or for each other. Throughout my life, we shared shopping tips. When there was a sale (on something we both tending to stockpile in our pantry or deep freeze), we bought for two houses. Ergo, if I found ground beef on sale, I automatically bought two family packs with my mother in mind. Incidentally, we also paid each other for whatever we bought. Just as a good friend would do when he or she appreciated doing business with each other. Now let’s get to the point here: When you see me in action, you see how my momma did things. Fact is, everybody that got to know us wanted to be our friend too. Hence, it’s not surprising that we wanted to be each other’s “Road Dog.” Without a doubt, I learned the simply basics of being a good person from my momma. Even if she would fight a buzz saw if it threaten her. An African Warrior Queen aside, her idea about the Golden Rule was somewhat askew, inasmuch as she, not only, treated people ike she wanted to be treated. But her “B” clause was: If you don’t slap my cheek, you won’t have cause to pause and ponder, whether, or not I’m going to knock the hell out of you. Since space is getting short, let’s cut to the chase about 2006 America’s frenzied preoccupation with sex. My mother’s logic was: If a woman try to tempt you by displaying her body, “Just turn you head,” and your behind want impact your mind. Shazam!
That’s pretty good logic coming from a “Crazy” momma by definition. Oh, you say my momma wasn’t crazy? Well, judge for yourself, because she definitely whipped my little butt if I failed to do, or didn’t do what she asked. Alas, she did it over and over, expecting a different result. Conversely, when I got tired of getting my little butt whipped, I grudgingly stopped doing what she told me not to do, and started doing what she told me to do. Square business, her philosophy was, either you can or you can’t; you will or won’t; you do or you don’t. Hence, if you could do but wouldn’t do, she whipped your butt until you “do-do.” I wonder if anybody knows where I’m coming from?