Below is an essay I wrote about my Mother. It first appeared in the Mother’s Day Issue of the NK Literary Magazine.
My speech wasn’t ready.
It’s Mom’s 70th birthday, and she wanted a party. Mom rarely asks for anything, but she wanted to celebrate this milestone. My sisters and I sprang into action.
The venue was secured. The theme was the Roaring 20’s. The caterer was instructed to prepare creole cuisine to reflect Mom’s Louisiana childhood. The invitations and programs were printed. We uploaded a video reflection of her.
But my speech wasn’t ready.
People arrived at the appointed time, and the program began. I played hostess greeting friends and family. And then we came to our moment on the agenda. Time for remarks from the three daughters. We gathered at the podium and assumed our places, naturally falling into formation of our birth order. As the oldest, I was given the mic first.
And my speech wasn’t ready.
I looked out at the awesome gathering of people sitting there in their sequined flapper dresses and pinstripe gangster suits. The scent of savory spices from the jambalaya and boudin whiffed over the room. Mom sat at the center table beside her Mother and beamed up at us.
What do you say to the woman who gave you life? The woman who raised you, nurtured you and sacrificed for you? What do you say when I love you isn’t enough?
I took a deep breath, and this is what I said.
My mother was mean.
Before people and especially women were told “No” is a complete sentence, my Mother knew it.
I would ask to go somewhere or do something with friends and nine times out of ten, it was a “No.” Sometimes with a “Because I said so” thrown in when I dared question the decision.
Don’t get me wrong. I felt loved. Mom is an affectionate and loving woman. But I often wondered why her love was so overprotective. Why did she keep us so close? Why wasn’t I allowed to do the things my girlfriends were doing? Didn’t she trust me?
Looking back at as an adult, I know she was only trying to keep us safe. The world can be an unkind place for women and particularly for a Black girl/woman. I appreciate her for doing the best she could.
But my major complaint was her constant mandate that I be a role model for my younger sisters. “You’re the oldest,” she would say. “You have to set a good example.”
I hated it.
She said it so often, it did influence the decisions I made in my life. I tried to be a good daughter, student, and person because my Mom was counting on me to help raise my sisters. I spent a lot of time trying to be a good role model, and I thought it was because of this pressure I felt from my Mother.
But that wasn’t the case. I was emulating the role model I saw every day.
Mom, thank you for being a role model for my sisters and me. You showed us how to be a strong woman, how to handle business and trust God. You taught us about sacrifice and family. You were the embodiment of love.
I guess my speech was ready all along.