My first mama was a big woman. She was powerful and could out arm-wrestle her three boys. She was a very hard worker, but never complained.
I loved this mama, for she was gentle, soft-spoken and a wonderful cook. She always smiled at me even when she was tired. This was my favorite mama.
One day I looked Mama in the eyes and did not have to raise my head to do so. Mama looked smaller--not so powerful and she looked like an ordinary middle-aged woman. Her hair was beginning to turn gray, and I noticed that her answers weren’t as sharp as they used to be.
I liked this mama, but the deep respect and admiration that I had had for her was gone. Maybe it was because I had grown and was almost a man. Maybe it was because Mama wasn’t as educated or knew as much about math and science as I did.
Many years went by—I had married, become a daddy to three children and enjoyed a wonderful career. The grandchildren came, they grew up, and made me proud of them.
It happened at one of my rare visits that I noticed a brand new mama.Somehow Mama seemed shorter, thinner and grayer. Her skin was more wrinkled and her speech slower. This mama was only a shell of my first vibrant and dynamic mama. She misplaced things and didn’t put on makeup. Her clothes seemed wrinkled and she did not cook her great chicken soup.