My Mother's Smile

There are people in this world, many of them are blood relatives, who know that the wide toothy grin on my face is a direct result of my mother's DNA. When my parents were designing me in their imaginations (and in my mother's belly), they hoped that I would have my mother's (need-no-perm-because-it's-straighter-than-Barbie's) hair (Oh, the damage we suffer as African Americans) and my father's complexion. What I did get was my mother's beautiful, full, warm, welcoming smile. I am glad for that. If people really knew my mother, they would be glad for it too. You see, behind that smile is a razor sharp tongue that makes my full frontal snark seem like a dull plastic spoon by comparison. You need to thank your stars and the God who created them that I only took on her smile and not her mouth. You think you've had your feelings hurt in this lifetime? Child, please! Until you've heard the blood curdling words of my dear mother...you've not truly been cut. Sometimes, I tell her things that happen in my life and I share my part in the conversations. I remember sharing something with her and it was as if she were disappointed in my wanna-be-kind-but-throwing-subtle-shade response. She offered her "what I would have said" response and though I was not the intended recipient, I had to apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding! Her response left me weak...but knowing that she meant that thing from the jam between her toes made me laugh even harder. One day, I'm going to embrace my mother's tongue...but first, I may need some kind of liability insurance or something. Perhaps a license to carry such a weapon. Someday, I might write a more academic account of the ways in which African American women often have to use words as protective armor. That is a task that I cannot bear right now because I would hate to know what happened in my mother's life to cause her to need such a weapon. Tonight, I'm just hoping that someone will thank God that they have not been given chapstick and a GPS satellite map to the altar which my mother often presents to those who need to leave a kiss offering. Heh, heh! Go Mom! You've still got it and you're still giving it! (And I'm still scared of it!)