Fatherhood Freestyle: Mother-Love Makes a Man

Growing up, my family was typical of lower income New Orleans households in that one house held several branches of the family tree; my mother and I lived in my grandparents’ house, as well as my aunt and her two children.  One of my earliest memories is from my third birthday.  I see a corner of a bed, huge in my vision with faded red lines which moved toward me as I pulled on it in an attempt to lift myself up.  And then my Grandmother Frances’ bespectacled face appears, smiling and comforting as she pulls me up…no easy feat ‘cause by all accounts I was a mini Buddha-baby.  My grandmother always looked out for me.  I always felt I could count on her.  She would always slip me candy or some spending money, would take my side in little arguments.  She could fuss at me, and minutes after, console me.   When I became a teen, she even attempted to help me organize my love life.  If I was out with a girl, and another one called while I was out; she would find a way to discreetly inform me of the call, with raised eyebrows and code words.  The fact that she would do this in front of my date was especially cute.  She was also deeply religious, praying twice daily, morning and night, sowing the seeds of spirituality in me.

Then there’s my Aunt Henrietta.  She was strong and firm, plain and matter of fact.  I was quite afraid of her in my early childhood.  None of us wanted to be on her bad side.  She was my mother’s older sister and as my mother worked different shifts in her job as a nurse, my care fell into her hands from time to time.  While my grandmother was my guardian angel, saving me and aiding me, my aunt seemed to be my persecutory devil; I couldn’t get away with anything!  She could always spot my lies, know that I snuck a snack, and had an uncanny way of feeling you get off the front porch before 3pm from two rooms away.  She was also the best cook in the house and I still long for her Sunday pot roast, potato salad, cornbread and desserts.   My aunt was fair; her justice was true.  What I saw then as persecution turned out to be preparation, and her no nonsense habits are reflected in the way I have parented my own children.  As I type this, I realize my aunt was only 5, 2’, but she was a giant in my life.

My mother, Theresa or Terri to her close friends, was many things to me.  She was a young mother, 19 when I was born, and the passion of her youth was quite evident.  I remember the hugs and kisses I would get when she came home from work, her fierce protectiveness of me when she felt I’d been wronged.  I have a clear memory of feeling loved by my mother; it seemed that in her eyes I was a gift, and there was no finer or smarter or cuter boy with curly hair on the planet.  She would talk to me about my dreams, how to carry myself and how to treat a girl with respect.  To this day I still receive compliments on my chivalrous ways of holding doors and having women walk on the inside of the sidewalk; and I know that is my mother.  I showed a talent for art as a child, and my mother encouraged it and would support me despite the grandness of my ideas.  She nurtured my intellect and my love of reading, buying me comic books initially and then magazines, paperbacks and novels.  While she was not a big reader, she always allowed me time and supported me in pursuing those things that seemed important to me.  But above all, my mother encouraged my speaking my mind and taught me the importance of listening.  Like my daughter, I’m pretty clear I can talk your head off at times.  But I can count on one hand the times my mother scolded me or shut me up when talking.  It didn’t matter if I was 3 or 13 or 33, she would listen to me.  She tolerated my endless questions, my protests when I viewed hypocrisy and even what could be described as back-talk when I did not understand or agree with her instructions.  As a parent I now realize the depth of patience she showed…I still have most of my teeth!

These are only three of the women who have shaped and helped me become the man I am.  Without any doubt they are the biggest contributors, the foundation of my relationships with all women.  On Mother’s Day I will remember them and smile.  And, everyday, I hope to honor their legacy and impact on my life to make them smile.