Mama-Mama where are my shoes? Mama-Mama did you sign my homework folder? Mama-Mama what happened to the dinosaurs? Mama-Mama how come they let that big guy skate in the Olympics if he keeps falling down? Mama-Mama how do they make those tires that can run over nails and not go flat? Mama-Mama what are we having for dinner?
Most questions at our house begin with Mama. I answer all clothing and food questions, but I sometimes pass on those that involve Olympic Committee policy or polymer chemistry. I’m not above expounding on creative theories about the extinction of the dinosaurs with something like, “Tyrannosaurus rex refused to bathe for a week and all the dinosaurs around him keeled over dead. Now go take your bath!”
Mama-Mama has reinforced my sense of being at the center of the universe for my children. I am their pivot point. They send out the Mama ping and when my reply bounces back to them they feel secure in their location in life. Mama-Mama can answer all questions, perform all tasks, meet all needs. Mama-Mama is the center of knowledge, the hero of the planet.
I knew that my children would eventually mature enough to see beyond the Mama-Mama universe, but it had been our accepted world for so long that I was not prepared when my seven year old slipped out of Mama-Mama orbit. It was near Martin Luther King’s birthday and he and I were driving home from an evening celebration of music and dance in honor of the civil rights leader. From the backseat Cabell was planning his future as either a soccer player or professional football star. “I like football,” he said, “But I cannot decide which position I should play, Mama. Mama, if you played football what position would you play?”
“Well, you know, Cabell,” came my words of Mama wisdom, “I loved football when I was your age. I thought it was the world’s greatest game. I watched college games and professional games and at night I would dream of being a football player. I would dream of being a quarterback in charge of calling the plays, taking the snap and rolling back to pass the perfect spiral. I would dream of being a tight end sprinting out long for the pass and making the perfect catch with my fingertips. I would dream of being a linebacker, agile and quick, breaking through the line and sacking the quarterback with awesome power.”
There was silence for a moment in the backseat. Then Cabell said, “That’s not the same dream Martin Luther King had.”
In that moment he was out of the Mama-Mama universe and I knew it. It was bound to happen, but who would have thought I would get ousted over football. Of course, at bedtime Dr. King wasn’t there to scratch his back and Mama-Mama worked a little gravitational magic.