Good Morning, Mama

Mom and Pops Reddick cut a rug at my sister's wedding

“Mama may have, papa may have

But God bless the child thats got his own

Thats got his own.”

“God Bless the Child,” Written by Arthur Herzog, Jr.

Good morning, Mother. How are you and Dad doing this morning?

You know I thought of you often last week, more often than usual. I thought of all those times you told me that someday I would wish I were back in your house, under your roof. I remember you told me that someday reality would finally catch up with me, and I would long for those days when you and Dad were there to make sure all my needs were met, when you and Dad would suddenly swoop in and clean up all my messes. Well, that someday was last week.

Not only did I wish I were back in your house, several times I peeked outside the door of my office and around the corner, wishing I would see you coming around the corner with that big Bible with the picture of White Jesus on the front, fully prepared to clown on my behalf, to defend me, like you did when I was in school.

And several times, I even picked up the phone to dial your number. One or two times I even dialed the area code and the first two or three digits of your number before I hung up.

I know you would have welcomed the call. I know that your voice would have been warm and soothing. I know you would have said all the right things to comfort me. I know I would have felt the love radiating even through the phone lines. And I know that sometimes everybody needs to feel they are somebody’s child.

But, in the same instance, I know you would not have wanted your grown son, your oldest son, to call you whining and complaining because he faced seemingly insurmountable obstacles, because things were not exactly going his way, because he felt maligned and misused by those around him. And I know this because you did not raise me that way. So, I did what you would have done, what Dad would have done.

I simply smiled your smile (Everyone seems to think I have your smile.). And I grunted Dad’s peculiar little laugh (Everyone seems to think I got that laugh from him.). I stood up straight—proud and erect, and I stuck my chest out. And I took on each and every obstacle that stood in my path. And when things did not go my way, I simply grabbed the snake by the head, as Grandmother used to say, and I kept working with it until I bent it to my will.

And for those people who maligned me, who wished to misuse me, your smile and Dad’s laugh and my upright carriage proved enough. When they saw they could not discourage me, when they realized they could not dissuade me from my goals, my purpose, they simply slinked away, cursing themselves.

But I still wish I were there in your house right now having a cup of coffee with you, enjoying the morning meal with you. That way I could feel your kiss and accept your embrace and feel Dad’s firm hand on my shoulder as I told you of how I faced self-pity and certain defeat but came out victorious. And then I could look in each of your faces and see your pride in the man that I have become.

Love always,

Maxwell René