What better time to practice “I’ll Fly Away” for Sunday service than at 8am on your antique sterling spinet piano that’s tuned a half step too low?
“If you can go out on Saturday night, you can go to church on Sunday morning.”
And if you thought she’d quit correcting you once you were an adult, you were sadly mistaken.
If you walk into someone’s house and there’s a plaque that reads “GOD BLESS THIS HOME” hanging over the kitchen door or “PRAY HARD…WORK HARD…TRUST GOD” over the fireplace, you just might have found yourself in the natural habitat of a southern mother.
“Could you believe it? There we are, in line waiting to buy some streak o’ lean for Sunday’s revival service, and before you know it, my buggy bumps into her’s and we get to talkin’ and, you won’t believe this, but we realize that her great grandmother was my Uncle Hershel’s ex-wife’s cousin! Anyway, she’s coming over for supper tomorrow night so don’t you dare make any plans.”
And she’ll physically correct you in public if your shoulders slouch even in the slightest.
Death in the family, divorce, a broken thumb — it’s nothing a chicken casserole can’t fix.
No matter if it’s $100 or $5 in your birthday card, you better not spend it until that thank you note is in the mail. And no, a phone call will not suffice.
One second, the counters are bare. The next, they’re slammed full of deviled eggs, oven roasted turkey, cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, hash brown casserole, brown sugar glazed carrots, cranberry sauce, fruit salad, vegetable salad, cheese toast, pecan pie, and pitchers of sweet, iced tea.
And for her next trick, she’ll make you set the table.
Usually for talking during church.
So, as a kid, when you brought home a plethora of stray pets and her response was “You’re crazy if you think we’re keepin’ that critter,” you knew it was only a matter of time before you were picking out names.
“The green bean casserole is made with chicken stock and has bacon in it, but it’s a veggie dish so have at it!”
Fixin’ cornbread, fixin’ to fix her hair, fixin’ to go to choir practice, fixin’ to turn this car around and give you a whoopin’.
But only if you didn’t stop smackin’ your mouth during supper.
Because nothing good could be waiting for you after those words are said.
This is usually followed by a passionate speech of what you did wrong, how she’s always right, what you can do to fix the situation, and how she never dared to back talk her mama like that.
She doesn’t care if Mrs. Parker lets her kids stay out past midnight or if Mrs. Johnson lets her children watch R-rated movies — it’s her house, her rules, and you’re expected to follow each and every one of them with a grateful attitude.
And she won’t understand your confusion when you realize in your early teens that Aunt Sue was never really your aunt in the first place.
As soon as they step foot on her porch, they’re invited for supper and given a big glass of sweet tea, forever branding them one of her’s.
And she loves you a bushel and peck. 