I love my mama.
Yesterday was one of those times when I just needed my mother. I called her and we talked for an hour and then all was right again. Sometimes I just need to hear her voice. There’s something about it that still calms me even though I’m a grown woman with a child of my own.
I’m Southern and I call my parents Mama and Daddy. It probably makes me sound ten, but I will always call them that. I’ve been thinking a lot about them lately. They are young — only 21 when I was born — and I’m an only child. I’m close to them. My parents are very unusual people. That’s an understatement.
I went to boarding school at 14 and never really came back home until I hit a quarter-life crisis at 23. That’s a whole other post.
In high school, I sobbed to my mother on the pay phone in the lobby of the dormitory when my heart got broken or heard that one of my friends was talking behind my back. I called her on this same phone when I got an A on a big test … or when I needed money.
Now, I live far away and I still have to call her on the phone to talk. I’m always so jealous of people who can go have lunch with their mothers on a whim, or can drop their child off at Grandma’s so they can get their nails done.
I have literally spent half of my life living away from my parents, but they still have a huge influence on me. I hope that I can be as close to my children as I am to my parents.