Black men have love hate relationships with their mothers. At least, I
do. On the one hand, no one will have my back quite like moms, and
yours is the same way.
No one will lend you money, wash your dirty underwear or care for you while you’re sick like Moms. No one cooks better food or makes a plate complete with every entrée on the table quite like Ma Dukes. It’s true -- your lady can make a decent pan of spaghetti, but Moms can make breakfast toast into a delicacy.
For a lot of us, Mom was the only parent in the house, and she's earned her props.She brought home the bacon and worked overtime to buy a pan
to fry it up. In a lot of ways, my Moms -- just like yours -- was the original hustler: she taught me how to rob Peter to pay Paul and keep the lights on. Legally, without losing any dignity. I learned my work ethic from my Mom, who, with 3 jobs at a time, was never home but always working.
Always tired.
That’s the sad reality of single motherhood, but I never heard her complain. She wore the struggle and didn’t let it wear her down. Most single moms do -- there's no other
choice. Moms, for most brothers, is number one because she was the
only one.
But with all her culinary skills, wisdom and niceties, there's also
one universal truth about Moms. As you get older, no one can get on your nerves quite like Mom. As much as you may want to, it's hard to tell your mom to get some
business and stay out of yours. She MADE you, after all.
If you are (un)lucky enough to live in the same city with your moms, she may like to come over unannounced and start cleaning your bathroom, whether it needs it or not. My mom likes to bring by a case of bleach and clean my pad from corner to corner. I have to leave the windows open at night for fear that the fumes will overcome me in my
sleep. The cat goes bonkers from the pine fresh scent.
Some moms like to come by to scrutinize your girlfriend or wife’s cleaning habits, and my mom was no different. These types of visits can leave loud conversations and broke-couch nights after she leaves. Sometimes, when I thought she might visit, it made me want to turn out the lights, herd my family into the basement and pretend not to be
home.
Sure, she meant well. The road to hell is
probably paved with Mom’s homemade chocolate-chip cookies.
What can I say? That’s my Mama.
Thank God for Moms: she’s the first and last woman a man can always count on.
About the Author
jimi izrael is an award-winning journalist and opinion writer. He currently serves on the editorial board ofthe Lexington Herald-Leader and is a regular commentator for National
Public Radio.
. He blogs occasionally at
www.jimiizrael.com.Get Today's Top News Stories
