“This crying stuff…that must come from your Daddy’s side of the family, because you don’t get that from me or mine. You’re gonna just have to get past this, dust yourself off, get up, and keep on going.” These words are ones which I have heard all too often in some iteration from my mother, Margaret. I can’t think of any expression to better demonstrate her “pick yourself up by your bootstraps” belief system.

Many people can categorize their mothers in one of two broad categories: they either describe her as super-sweet, domestic, nurturing to a fault, and maybe even a pushover, or they describe her as strict, career-focused, abrasive, and possibly aloof. I don’t think any of these terms would accurately describe the woman who has graced this earth (dare I say?) long enough to claim Octogenarian status. I can confidently say that my mother is tough, nurturing, petty (when it’s in order), intelligent, highly creative, quick-witted, determined, somewhat stubborn, loving, kind-hearted, feminine, quicker-to-anger than she will ever admit, pretty, astute, regal, articulate, proud, generous, thoughtful, dynamic, and gregarious.

Mama did not come by these characteristics easily, and she has earned every single one during her years. Her humble beginnings were mired in the fact that her mother died just 4 days after she turned 7 years old (on New Year’s Day), leaving my mother as the oldest of 3, with a father who already struggled to make ends meet as a laborer.

Her early years would be spent moving from Memphis to New Jersey to live with her maternal grandmother, leaving by train for the unknown just days after laying her mother to eternal rest. While there, her beloved Aunt Hattie and her young Uncle Booker worked multiple jobs to help take care of their deceased sister’s children along with their mother; Mama would be forever grateful to this favorite Uncle Booker, and pass this love and adoration for him down to her own children.

Unfortunately, because of the times, resources, and ages of different relatives, Mama and her siblings would move to several different cities to live with several different family members over their formative years. Over time, Mama became familiar with parts of New Jersey, Philadelphia, Gary, Indiana, and Forrest City, Arkansas before she and my Uncle Odell moved back to Memphis when their father remarried. They would become separated from my Aunt Marie, who would end up staying with a relative who chose to raise her in Gary permanently. Back in Memphis, my mother and her brother became part of a blended family, with a “his”, “hers”, and “theirs” of children with their father and stepmother. I would be remiss if I spoke on my mother’s upbringing and didn’t mention that she will always love her family’s school, Manassas High, and she’ll forever be proud to be an HBCU grad of Lemoyne (now Lemoyne-Owen)!

Because my mother lost her mother so early, we will never know if she gets her “personality plus” attributes from her mother, father, or both. My Granddaddy Odell cannot possibly be contained within the context of a post about my mother, so I will post about him for his birthday this upcoming February. What I can say is that we did have the good fortune to know Mama’s aunts from both sides of her family, and because she shares many of their character traits, it’s no wonder that she has never been accused of being boring! Between Aunt Clara, who could talk longer than the day is long; Aunt Ruthie, who stayed spry long beyond her elderly years; and Aunt Naomi, who had men vying to be her next husband up until her last elderly days, she didn’t lack strong female idols. She was also strongly influenced by her grandmothers and even more bold women who were progressive before their time. These women taught her how to be independent, how to stand on her own two feet, and how to manage money responsibly, in the context of both being single and as a married woman.

Mama was typically excited and a lively contrast to my more subdued father, who was the country to her city mouse. I love to hear Mama talk about the major adjustment it was for her, a bona fide North Memphis girl, to move miles across the county to start a new life with my father on this quiet and remote farm, his birthplace, where animals made strange noises in the dark cloak of night! But she did just that, and naturally charmed the daylights out of her mother-in-law and father-in-law, who lived down the street on that same farm, in the process. On that farm, she would grow comfortable, raise a family, and eventually say goodbye to and bury the husband who took her from the city to be there with him in the first place.

Prior to meeting my father and after graduating from college, Mama began her life’s calling as a teacher. (Years later, she would earn a Master’s degree remotely with distance learning…LONG before it was vogue, and while working full-time, married, and raising children.) Her father was so very proud to tell everyone that his daughter was a teacher! He made it a point to always tell her that nothing was more important than getting her education; this was undoubtedly very valuable to him, as he had never had the opportunity for significant education himself. In the beginning of her career, she taught a couple of different grades, but she quickly found that her heart would always belong to 1st graders. Over 20 years after retiring, she still lights up when she hears of a child who is 6 years old, because these little kindergarten transitioners are her people; she has said they are “sponges” who are at the ready to “soak up” knowledge. The one slight downside to having a mother who has been passionate about teaching, though, is that she never turns the ‘Educator’ mode off. She will deny it, but I’m pretty sure she was correcting our diction when my sister and I were each still in kindergarten; our father was not helpful in this regard, serving as a background grammar police cheerleader, advising us not to always start sentences with “but” and “like” 😐. Nevertheless, to this day, I have heard few people regale others with the joy their profession brings them as Mama does when she describes how it feels to watch a child’s “lightbulb come on” when teaching them a concept that they finally grasp. Everyone should be so fortunate to love what they spend most of their lives doing while serving others in a profession.

My earliest memory of Mama, as my sister Ingrid and I affectionately call her, was of a time when I was in a walker (my pediatrician-heart aches a bit over this – lol). It’s actually my very first memory, and I recall that it was when she welcomed my paternal great-uncle, Uncle Edward, into the house at the kitchen door, and they were both so…LOUD! He was a very lively personality, was likely hard of hearing at the time, and the two of them together would have naturally been very…spirited, so it’s no wonder that the mere startle of their jovial greeting has remained as my first vividly clear memory.

However, as dynamic as she has been on her own accord, there has never been and never will be more flourish in movements, pep in her step, or brightness in Mama’s beautiful smile than when she was around her siblings during her middle-aged years of the 1980s. Some of my fondest childhood memories are from summers visiting my aunts on the South Side of Chicago, watching as Mama and Aunt Marie pushed each other aside, arms akimbo, proudly shoving their bosom forward and proclaiming that they had bigger busts than their sister. This was a real thing-LOL! Only when we were in Chicago would we find another person who HAD to be Mama’s sister, because the only other person we had ever met who would, like our mother, routinely start singing what would be normal conversation for anyone else was our Aunt Marie. Better yet, nothing compared to late night shopping sprees at Cub Foods with Aunt Ruby (why were we buying food when we didn’t live there?) and watching all the Swift siblings sing and dance to Barry White, Teddy Pendergrass, and the best of Motown.

Back Row: Mama and Aunt Marie; Front Row: Aunt Ruby and my sister, Ingrid

My Uncle Odell (Jr) actually had a video recorder back in the day, so there are videos of get-togethers showcasing their father and other family in impromptu family fashion shows. One sound that I hope to never forget in this lifetime is that of the thundering, ebullient laughter of Mama, Granddaddy Odell, her siblings, and our entire Swift crew as they enjoyed the few, precious times they got to spend quality time together.

Though my mom can cut a rug with her siblings, she has found many ways to make life as interesting as possible for her own little family, as well. Thanks to her, my childhood was replete with Saturdays for hustling and bustling from ballet to piano/organ lessons to Sears shopping excursions. With a mother who was the quintessential first-grade teacher who had to have the best items for her students, I knew what it was like to go shopping with the actual teacher in those classroom supply stores! She was the one who would create the most creative treats for our Girl Scout troops when it was her turn to provide refreshments, long before Pinterest was even a consideration. If you are going to roast someone or need a person to create a last-minute speech to give at someone’s retirement event (as in, on a napkin while actually attending said dinner celebration), Margaret is the one to ask! When I was growing up, she was known for giving out large peppermint candy sticks to my kid cousins for Christmas, and also for coordinating the cousins’ annual summer trips to the celebrated Memphis Zoo. She sang ever-so-melodiously in our church choir before she eventually would have severe arthritis leading to spinal cord injury and permanent impairment of driving and prolonged standing abilities. I wish I had half the voice and singing talent she has; American Idol’s Susan Boyle has nothing on her rendition of ‘How Great Thou Art’.

When we went to DisneyWorld for the first time and I was afraid to get on the roller coaster, she did an on-the-spot commercial about how much fun it was going to be!

Riding an amusement park ride with Mama

I could go on and on, but it’s probably clear that my mother has always possessed a zest for enjoying the fun aspects of life and embracing those, instead of dwelling in times of sadness and defeat.

A Favorite Pic of our Family at the World’s Fair in Knoxville

I fully believe that this is born of having to persevere in the face of losing her mother at an early age, having a strict father who didn’t take any crap (he would use another word 🙂 ), and being guided by strong women who didn’t espouse a ‘woe is me’ weakness-riddled agenda or feeble feminine mindset that screamed of wanting to be saved. Mama has had the spirit to prevail, despite the adversity of being born into poverty, the tragic childhood death of her mom, and the trials and tribulations of life as a black woman in the South enduring Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Movement, and beyond into the 21st century. Even when I’m happy to take a break from being strong and triumphing over hardships, I’m grateful that one of her best gifts to me is the legacy of grit and determination that she received from previous generations of our family.

Perhaps one of the greatest delights of my adult life has been watching my mother enjoy being a grandmother. She is aware that she feels my son can do no wrong, and that he has her wrapped around his finger. The funniest thing is that she LOVED raising girls; she said she relished in dressing us up like “living dolls”, and this made me dream of the day when I would have my own little real-girl doll to dress up!

Mama and her Grown Girl Dolls 🙂

However, neither of us could have fathomed the pure joy of a boy, and the fun that only a child who is willing to risk limb and life to run, jump, and vault over random objects could bring. Mama is a natural at being a doting “Mom Mom”, as she has chosen to be called. Ironically, though I can’t describe Mama using the words in the broad categories mentioned at the beginning of this post, I can do so when referring to her as a grandmother. Without a doubt, Mama as Mom Mom is super-sweet, domestic, nurturing to a fault, and yes, even a pushover; in 80-plus years, she has earned the right to be❤️.

Mom Mom and the Apple of her Eye