Mamie sat down on the porch to talk to an old friend name Jamila. They’ve been through some difficult times together that many of us can relate to.
”Mother’s Day is almost here,” Mamie said while adjusting her lounge chair.
”Yes, it is. My son sent me a beautiful set of callas this morning.”
”Oh, those are my favorite. But I miss not having any children.” Then Mamie looked straight out towards a glowing orange mist from the horizon. A few houses have been boarded up for years now, but the neighborhood still looks nice with its line of oak trees and manicured lawns.
”Well, it maybe a good thing because most of these kids today don’t think of no one but themselves. It’s a shame.”
”Well, I must say that your son has changed,” Mamie continued.
”It’s only because I had gotten on him so bad.”
They look like sisters wearing yellow/green summer dresses with strapped thongs. The soft thick curls hang down the back. They even have the same dark eyes. But one is fifty-two years old. Jamila will be sixty next year.
”Why are they that way?” Mamie asked.
”Well, it has something to do with this generation. We were never that way coming up.” Then Jamila got out of the folding chair to leave.
”Yes, those were the days but are you leaving so soon?”
”I left a pot of greens on so they should be done now,” Jamila answered.
”Alright, I’ll see you later.”
I hope that all the mothers’ will enjoy their day on Sunday.