Life Aboard the Mothership by Jamal Jones

A hoopty with bald tires riding on a rugged road would best describe the relationship that my mother and I have had throughout my 25 years of living. We have been butting heads like rams since the time where my mind was able to process its first thought of comprehension. Our definition of seeing eye-to-eye rests within spontaneous bursts of laughter and accomplishments that elevate our family. I often times used to pray for moments like these to cast light on our dim days. They were so authentic; so honest; so pure. I suppose God wanted us to work for those precious moments; wanted us to fight through those difficult times so that we could appreciate each other's dedication to become better. Although, still to this day, I can openly admit that we haven't reached a point of total resolution, and in the same breath I can honestly admit that we have grown and are still developing an understanding of who we are as mother and son, however, faith without works is dead. And I have faith that the work being put in will not reach the point of death as long as God allows breathe in and out of my body.
Imagine being raised by a mother who wasn't taught how to Love; my grandmother. Yearning for that affection, you submit to the clutches of a false interpretation of what you perceive Love to be. A child is born out of that situation and into the arms of neglect. Furthermore, thrust into a society of misunderstanding; my mother. This lack of support encourages the continuation of a cycle that only promises instability; an instability that would present itself as a hindrance at every opportunity where progression would show its face. Distraction after distraction, the will of that child would be tested, until, one day, she would be made aware of a mishap that would result in the bearing of a child at age 17; me.
The lack of Love that was presented within the households of these progressing generations is strong enough to influence future generations to dismiss the very ideas of success as being an option. However, something different had been added to my gene pool. Being raised by a women's scorn and learning about the various ways in which women endured such heartbreaking circumstances would inspire me to stand up to their pain in the name of a Love that I was becoming to understand. My experiences and observations of watching the women of my family develop have enhanced my understanding how and why women operate as mothers. To 'become' a mother is a result of a moment. However, to 'call' yourself a mother speaks of the dedication that a woman puts into raising her child. It speaks of the resilience that goes into the process of being recognized as such. With that, I don't blame my mother for the things that she's been through. I honor her on Mother's Day and beyond for remaining persistent in her efforts to 'own' her position as a mother.

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