From the Desk of The DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank

***** Disclaimer: This is my personal interpretation of the song.  Someone asked if I was sure about this.  That is the thing about any form of art including music. It often speaks differently from one beholder to the next. 

 

I know there are many who can relate. I see it often in random posts on Facebook. I hear it in a passing conversation and though at first thought, one would think differently, in reality, it just isn’t so. It happens and if you listen, it happens often.

It might go like this. “I sure am missing my mother today.” It’s not the birthday of the mother in question.  It is not the anniversary of the date she “gained her wings.” It is just a random person, having a random thought, on a random day, with little or no significance to the “MOM” in question. And often, at a time when the person uttering the statement is doing just fine. I mean, when the hard times come or the hard decisions scream for an answer, of course, we’d love to have ole “MOM” around to lend an ear and offer suggestions. But these are not the times of which I speak.

I know these times are real because I’ve experienced them myself. This past week, and of course, the reason for this post, I’ve had my mother on my mind. Specifically, I’ve tried to fathom what a conversation would be like if I had a chance to spend 20 minutes with her. I asked a friend to describe what she thought a conversation with her mother might be if she were granted 20 minutes with her. Her response was that she didn’t really know at the moment. She said that she assumed there would be questions about being in the presence of Jesus, but mainly, she said she would love the opportunity to be near her mother, to feel her touch, and to see her face. My friend’s voice trailed off, as if deep in thought. She said, “She wouldn’t have to say anything, or answer anything, (verbally)”

I shared the last words I spoke to my mom and finished with tears in my eyes. She had tears as well and gave me assurance that my last words were sufficient.

I visit this somewhat painful topic because of a song. I have been a fan of Nathaniel Rateliff from the beginning.  I’ve listened to songs like “I Need Never Get Old,” “Howling at Nothing,” “A Little Honey,” “You Worry Me,” “Still Out There Running,” and “And It’s Still Alright.” I also listened to “Hey Mamma.” I’ve listened to these songs many times in fact. But this week I heard “Hey Mamma” in a different light. It had not been among my favorite Nathaniel Rateliff songs, so I really didn’t pay it much attention before. But for whatever reason, as is the tendency with music, on certain days, certain songs, bring certain results.

The tune starts with what seems to be a phone call from a son to his mother. It just so happens that the timing of the call catches mama in a less than favorable mood. Of course, the reason for her mood is not revealed, nor is it important to the song. It seems though that dear old mom just isn’t in the mood for beating about the bush. Perhaps, she has heard her son’s line before and has decided to speak firmly and let him know how it is.

At any rate, after some attention-getting, she begins to tell him about life. About how he can’t feel sorry for himself and needs to realize that life is a marathon. She firmly expresses that, with respect to the larger picture, he just hasn’t paid his dues. She says that he hasn’t given enough of himself to give up, he hasn’t worked hard enough to sit back on his laurels. And I believe that she is making a slight apology for having to be firm by saying “you picked a bad time to listen to me.”

 

“So it is with the song “Hey Mama.” But it got me to thinking about the conversations I had with my dear mother while she was still with us. She could be stern, often, downright mean.

There was this one particular morning that I will use as an example. I was sitting at my desk at around 9:45 AM. I remember the time because I debated answering due to the fact that I had a 10:00 AM leadership meeting at work.  I regretted answering when almost immediately, my mother began to set in on me. Honestly, I was sitting at my desk and realized that she was listing all of her grievances against me. I felt like George Constanza at the celebration of Festivus. Quickly, I grabbed a pen and a note pad and began copying down her complaints. I can’t remember them all today, but I remember the final tally was 14 complaints. Things like I didn’t spend enough time with my kids, I wasn’t taking my kids to church enough, my yard was a mess, and on and on until finally, she finished by telling me that we were all FAT!

I got off the phone with her and walked to the conference room, a little in shock, but carrying the list. Before the meeting, the various department heads of Marion General Hospital were patiently waiting for all of the attendees to arrive, so I shared the story of my mother’s phone call and then read the list to them. Everyone had a huge laugh at my expense.

When the meeting adjourned, I decided it would be prudent to warn my siblings not to answer the phone if their mother called that day. My first call was to my twin brother, Johnny. As soon as he answered, I asked, “Have you spoken to your mother today?” His answer was, “Yes I have.” Followed by, “She sure is on your ass today,” I told him that I knew and I was trying to warn everybody. I figured that she was in a mood and was going down the list giving everyone a good old “What For.”  My enlightenment came when I realized that I was the only one of her offspring with whom she had a problem.

My second call was to my oldest sister, Judy. She answered and I asked, “Have you spoken to your mother today?” She told me that Mom had called but she didn’t pick up the phone. I told her she had done right to let it ring and proceeded to explain why. She was still laughing when our call ended.

Most everyone who knew “Ms. June” knew her to be a sweet, caring, and generous soul, and she was just that, most of the time. But there were times when she could be a force to be reckoned with. With me, due to the fact that I lived only a half of a mile from her and was the only one of her offspring who lived within an hour, I was exposed more and she could more closely see the things about me that disappointed her.

I don’t want to leave anyone with the impression that my mother was a mean woman. This woman had three children and that was supposed to be it. Then after about four years or so, she was blessed with twins. She finished her teaching degree after having 5 children, and later she assisted in raising in some of her grandchildren. My mother was very faithful to her church and to her family. She was my prayer warrior, and though she’s been gone for some time, I think of her almost daily.

I think about the conversation Nathaniel Rateliff has with his mother in the song. I realize these days, especially as the light is subsiding in my 56^th year that the advice given in the song is valuable. But I am reminded also about a saying that my Grandfather was purported to have used, though I do not know if it was a “Grandpa Johnny original.” The saying went, “Advice is useless. A smart man don’t need it and a fool won’t take it.” How I wish I knew that to be a “Grandpa Johnny original.”  There is a lot of truth in that statement.

But having good advice to give doesn’t necessarily mean that one should give it. It doesn’t mean that anyone would take it. It stands to reason, though, that by the time one acquires the wisdom of time, there is precious little time to profit from it.  So the next goal might be to share. There may be one or two who pretend to listen to these pearls, but it becomes apparent that it is met with little interest. Then…., the realization that additional wisdom is gained solely by the experience.

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