`Momilies' - homilies from mothers - Brief Article

Ebony, May, 2001 by Laura Randolph Lancaster

AS far as I know, the many lessons in living that Black mothers routinely teach their children have yet to be published in any book. In fact, though Black mothers everywhere impart these precious lessons every day, I have never seen them in written form.

I find the lack of such a collection not just surprising but seriously eerie, given the fact that the words Black mothers use to impart them aren't just similar, they're the same. And not just in minor ways. In every way. Substance. Style. Tone. Topic.

It's as if these teachings come straight out of some "Top Secret Mother Manual," some highly classified handbook on which all new moms get tested before they're permitted to take their little bundles of joy home.

We've all heard of homilies, which my dictionary defines as "sermons, especially those intended to edify a congregation on a practical matter." Well, these are momilies--which I define as "sermons, especially intended to edify a child on practically everything that matters."

When we're young, these sentence sermons get on our last good nerve. But when we're grown, we see these teachings for what they are: The lessons we need to learn if we are ever to become what the New Age folks call a "fully realized person."

In honor of Mother's Day in general, and my mother in particular, here is a collection of some of my favorite momilies--and the lessons they taught me.

   My mother taught me individuality.

   I don't care how many of your friends are getting
   their noses pierced; you're not!

   My mother taught me economics.
   Money doesn't grow on trees.

   My mother taught me patience.
   We'll leave when I say we'll leave.

   My mother taught me the circle of life.
   I brought you into this world and I'll take you out.

   My mother taught me weight control.
   Don't get too big for your britches.

   My mother taught me modesty.
   You're not leaving this house in those skintight jeans.

   My mother taught me to understand and respect
   authority.
   Because I'm the mother, that's why.

   And how to delegate it.
   Wait until your father gets home.

   My mother taught me humility.
   You're not half as cute as you think you are.

   My mother taught me that less is more.
   Go upstairs and wipe that blue eye shadow, red lipstick,
   and black eyeliner off your face.

   My mother taught me to
   believe in magic.
   I've got eyes in the back of
   my head.

   My mother, taught me transcendental
   meditation.
   You sit there until you figure
   out why you should have known
   better without being told.

   My mother taught me the
   importance of staying close to
   family.
   If you can't take your sister
   with you, you're not going.

   My mother taught me faith.
   You'd better pray that your teacher doesn't tell me
   you were involved.

   My mother taught me the importance of protecting
   things you love.
   If I find that (pick one) toy/shoe/album in the middle
   of the floor just one more time, it's going to disappear
   forever.

   My mother taught me that responsibility leads to
   accountability.
   You dented the car; you pay to have it fixed.

   My mother taught me the power of imagination.
   Just pretend they're real diamond earrings.

   My mother taught me the meaning of infinity.
   Whatever happens, I'll always be your mother.