“Hear, my son, your father’s instruction, and forsake not your mother’s teaching, for they are a graceful garland for your head and pendants for your neck.” -Proverbs 1:8-9
My, how time has flown since the day I moved out of my parents’ house and into my college dorm and now my very own apartment. I remember countin’ down the days until I moved into my dorm in Creswell Hall that was half the size of my bedroom at home, and I even had to share it with someone. While I’m barely able to remember those times these days, there are other memories that quickly come to mind that make me regret every excitin’ feelin’ I had about movin’ out on my own.
The first memory that made me regret those feelin’s was one of the first times I had to provide dinner for myself. While I probably wasn’t regrettin’ those feelin’s the day before when I was galavantin’ around spendin’ my (well, I guess my parent’s that they’d given to me) money as I saw fit, I was definitely feelin’ some type of remorse the next night when I was watchin’ tv while eatin’ those infamous Ramen noodles. I was all alone in my dorm while my roommate went home to eat dinner with her family since she lived only an hour away. Of course, I didn’t have that luxury bein’ from below the Macon-Dixon line (aka, south of Macon, Georgia). It was then that I realized how unthankful I’d been about my mama’s home-cooked suppers every night and my daddy’s countless tips about savin’ my money. Talk about a wake-up call, y’all.
The next one of those times was when I was busily studyin’ for my college finals. Finals durin’ my first year weren’t so hard, but the ones durin’ my first semester of my second year proved to be a rude awakenin’. Y’all, I can remember doin’ everything in my power not to call my mama. I kept tellin’ myself, “I can do this. I’m a grown woman who’s smart and can make it through this.” Tellin’ myself this definitely didn’t work, but somehow, hearin’ my mama and daddy both tell me, “Baby, you are a strong, smart, beautiful young lady at one of the south’s top public universities. They wouldn’t have let you in if they didn’t think you could handle it, and you wouldn’t still be there if you couldn’t. You can do this. These tough times will pass.” As y’all can see, this was essentially the same thing I told myself, but I guess I couldn’t quite believe it until I heard it from them. (It usually takes them tellin’ me somethin’ for me to believe it with just about anything. I may be a grown woman, but I can’t quite think like one yet; hence them still callin’ me “baby.”)
Now I’m about to tell y’all about a time that seems to happen on a recurrin’ basis. I enjoy keepin’ it classy in the Classy/Classic City, even on a few Friday and Saturday nights. While I always have fun with my friends, I too often see somethin’ that rattles my feathers: young men disrespectin’ young ladies, physically or verbally. What’s even worse is when the young ladies find it acceptable. No ma’am, no sir, no way on earth is it ok with me. Every time I see this happen to someone else or, Lawd forbid someone’s fixin’ to try it on me, I always remember my parent’s preachin’ to me about how a young gentleman should treat a young lady and, more importantly, how my daddy has always treated my mama. I’m usually followin’ my quiet, mild-mannered, southern belle ways, but whenever somethin’ like this happens to me or one of my close friends, my southern sass kicks into full gear, and that wretched young man feels like those Yankees did after the battle of First Manassas.
One of the times that I really should’ve listened to Mama and Daddy was when I finally broke down and realized that I needed to learn how to cook. Y’all, my mama, bless her sweet heart, has tried relentlessly since I was a young’un to teach me my way around the kitchen and grocery store. I can still remember from the time I was a young’un til right before I left for college followin’ her around the store as she pushed the buggy and listenin’ to her say, “You’re gonna need to know where __________ is located in the grocery store one day.” I guess I always just assumed that I’d be on meal plan my entire college career. Wrong, y’all! I started tryin’ to learn how to cook through Pinterest back in September. I can still recall pickin’ a few recipes that seemed easy enough to fix, makin’ my grocery list, then spendin’ hours pushin’ my buggy around Kroger tryin’ to find all the stuff that Mama had pointed out to me before. The struggles didn’t end there, y’all, as I completely ruined every single one of those first set of meals. Eventually, I conquered all of them as well as many others, but it would have been so much easier if I had listened to Mama.
Actually, y’all, just listenin’ to her and Daddy the first time about everything would have made my life so much easier. I think this realization is the only thing that somewhat constitutes me as a grown woman. (Lovin’ and respectin’ them is what makes you a southern belle, which I’ve always done.)
Happy lovin’, respectin’, and listenin’, y’all!
Pigskins and Pearls 