"When Mama ain't happy," . . . well, you know the rest.

Those of us who have been blessed by God to live at least fifty percent of a century might agree that we have certainly earned the right to be opinionated. After all, when you hit the big 5-0, you have a right to be difficult to persuade since most of us graduated with esteemed “Thank-the-Laude" degrees from UDD: the University of Duck and Dodge. Ergo, I feel the need to reach out and touch someone with a bit of life experience. My biggest opinion challenge came when my son, 20 at the time, wanted to marry. No babies. No 12 gauge shotgun held to his temple by some crazed mountain man. My baby just wanted to get married. And he wanted it to last a lifetime. Well, the lifetime lasted 22 months. The only relatives who came to the wedding on her side of the family were the ones who became her relatives after the ceremony was over. Plus, it might not have been a wise choice for my son to marry a girl who said she had no friends. She didn’t even plan to have someone to stand with her as a maid of honor, and her daddy never took off work to come to the ceremony while the mom took off to live with her boyfriend she met in an internet chatroom who was twice her age and lived with his grandmother in public housing. (You'd think one of us in his family would catch a clue, but he was so in love and we dare not share our sagelike wisdom with him.) Didn’t even have someone to stand with her as a maid of honor or bridesmaids. (Unless you want to count her six cats). Well, to cut to the chase, nothing made this girl “happy.” This Vegas-style marriage was like a long date while he felt otherwise. Then one day, after he sacrificed both his education and his meager means of income to make her happy, my daughter in law decided she was no long “attracted to him.” Even threw the wedding pictures (that her new in-laws took of the ceremony) in a sack with his dirty laundry. Now I’m not saying the girl was dysfunctional, but one has to wonder what moved her to haul off an d slap my son without provocation because she didn’t want him to take the cat that my sister gave my son for company when he had no choice but to sleep in the living room alone. I think the cat will recover. Still, there is no doubt my first born male child was crushed. It was like someone ran a samurai sword through my solar plexus. And do you wanna know what was worse that the grandest granddaddy of labor pains for any woman? I was the cold hard reality that there was nothing I could do to protect him from this, what seemed to be the worst of all hurts. The details, since they are a matter of confidentiality (and very similar to the “Passions” soap opera) would be one that would make Jerry Springer cringe. Given the nasty chain of events, and given the fact that my daughter-in-law is in such an awful hurry to be rid of my son, it is safe to say that she, nor does any other ex-or soon-to-be-ex entity of any mother really have any idea as to the indescribably dynamic bonds between mother and child. They stretch far beyond the umbilical cord. Just look at the players in the Super Bowl. The don’t say, “Hey Culligan Man!” So what was my reaction? Ever seen the movie “Deliverance?” This was one hot mama-in-law on the hunt, and I had to constantly remind myself that although I wanted to someday be a household name in literature, it would be best if I didn’t do it by being the lead story on the eleven o’clock news. But with the help of friends both online and offline, and my kneeling pillow (also doubled as a punching bag) I am in the process of training my mind for faith and patience. Yes, being a mother one of the most powerful position on earth, but I had to learn that no matter how vigilant I am about protecting my children, I realize I’m a long way from being God. No body likes to see their children hurt. Matters not if it is the first lump on their noggin when they take their first steps; their first skinned knee when the training wheels come off of their Schwinn (the days before protective head gear); and mercy Jesus, when they start their first day of school and you stand their all doe-eyed that you’ll be separated from them for at least three hours. They say timing is everything. My son is now enrolled in college, working part time again, and looking forward to graduating in one of those high tech fields that I can’t pronounce. So I call it “computers with crackers and cheese” major, because he’ll be eating a lot of late night crackers and cheese as he studies. His outlook on life is much brighter because he, fortunately, had taught me a strong lesson about faith in God and in living for His purpose. And as for me, I am just a proud mama who hopes to see not one, but two of my sons graduate from college in the next few years. (If my daughter finds a good working man with brains and compassion then my prayer for her will be answered.) I just hope that God has a special lady waiting for both of them who knows how to make herself happy instead of looking for happiness with all the wrong motives. But she better make sure she doesn't ruffle my feathers in any way, shape or form. I wonder how many times can one ask God for forgiveness? I think I'm gonna need it because of my kids. © 2004 by cynth'ya lewis reed