The Black Mama Experience

Now, if you don't have a black mother or weren't raised by a black woman, this story may not resonate with you. In fact, for some of you "other" folks this story might leave you flabbergasted and feeling like this is your opportunity to stand on your soap box and judge. But, if you've personally had the "Black Mama Experience", well then this story will probably have you laughing out loud as you reminisce about something similar happening to you.

Here's one story...

I was a 9 year old little girl. I was shy yet still had the ability to make and maintain friendships. Both neighbors on opposite sides of my house were my friends and even the kids across the street from my house were my friends. We were your classic, sometimes mischievous, neighborhood kids that rode bikes, roller skated, played dolls and hopscotch.

Well on this particular day, the friend across the street little sister was having a birthday party and I, along with my mom, was invited. You see back then in black neighborhoods, not only did the kids know each other, but our parents knew each other as well. Which sucked because it made it very hard to do something wrong and get away with it.

I wanted to look my very best for this party because not only were friends invited but most of my friends family and cousins were going to be there as well. Including her male cousins! Yeah I know, I'm 9 at that time right? I shouldn't even be paying attention to boys. But my concern wasn't to get a boys attention, my concern was to keep their attention off of me and not "bag" on me because of the way I looked. Yeah that's what we called it back then when someone would talk bad about how your hair or clothes or shoes looked. They would start bagging on you in front of everyone and they will not let up till they had everyone laughing hysterically at you.

Dressing Up

So, I put on the cutest dress I could find in my closet. It was pink with purple flowers on it. When I tied the tie around my waist to the back, the bow would fluff out which gave it that extra flair of cuteness. I picked out my black patent leather Maryjane shoes and a pair of my fluffy ruffle socks that I normally wear to church or special occasions. But to me, this was a special occasion. As I looked in the mirror to see what I created, my smile slow disappeared. My hair, there was absolutely nothing I could do with my hair. You see, back then most little black girls wore cute ponytails with barrets and hair balls. You didn't see little girls with braids with fake hair braided in it the way you do now. My hair at that time was a nappy afro. There was barely enough hair to braid let alone to put into a ponytail. Unfortunately, my mom was one of few women that didn't know how to comb their daughters hair. She had no clue how to do a press and curl which was an alternative to ponytails. Her beautician friend would occasionally have pitty on me and would do my hair, otherwise that nappy afro was my unpreventable go to look.

The Party

I heard my mom call my name as I was looking in the mirror. "Marie, let's go!" I walked out of the bathroom with my head down and my mom said, "What's wrong with you? You look pretty." As I walked out of the front door in front of her, I responded solemnly, "Nothing".

As we started walking across the street with my mom holding my hand, I looked up at my mom and noticed she was looking down at me smiling. It was a look of pride. The apprehensions I had about how my hair looked slowly went away. As I looked ahead, I could see that most if not all of my friends family was already at the party. People were outside in the yard and you could see people gathered in her back yard as well. When we made it across the street, my mom let my hand go which was my cue to go and play with the kids.

As I made my way to the group of kids, I spotted my friend Teresa playing with her cousins. When she saw me, she ran to me and gave me a huge hug. She started introducing me to all of her girl cousins. One of which stood out from the rest. She looked like she was maybe around the same age as my friend and I. She wasn't dressed as pretty as me, the neck of her t-shirt was stretched out of place, her jeans were holey (that was not fashionable back then) and her shoes leaned to the side as she stood. But none of that mattered because the most important thing that she did have and I didn't, was two long braided ponytails on each side of her head that touched her shoulders. Can you imagine how long her hair had to have been for her ponytails to be braided and still touch her shoulders?

Well, she must've known she was the "shit" with hair like that. Because with tattered clothes and a bad attitude she said to me, "You got some nappy hair!" She said it in front of everyone within earshot, including the boys. So of course the boys burst out in laughter, elbowing each other holding their stomachs as if their laughter made their stomachs hurt. My friend just looked at me and stared as everyone began to laugh.

The Fight

I was horrified, embarrassed and dying inside all at once. I looked at her with fire in my eyes, and I could feel my fists uncontrollably clench up. Before I knew it, I was on the ground on top of her beating the devil out of her. Because as far as I was concerned, she was the devil.

After about an hour of beating her ass, (okay maybe it was 3 minutes, but it sure felt like an hour) I can feel someone yank me off of her by my arm. It was my mother! Fear immediately took over my body, because after rolling, snatching and pulling that pretty hair of hers while on the ground, I can only imagine what my dress and shoes looked like. Plus, we were at someone else's house and me, her child was out here acting a damn fool fighting.

Anger was in her eyes. You know how your mother would cut one of her eyes at you when she was pissed the hell off? Well that's what her eye was doing. I started to imagine what she was going to do to me when we got home, or worse what she was going to do to me in front of all of these people.

The Threat

So as you can imagine, I was not prepared for what was about to come out of my mothers mouth. She lifted my face with her hands, looked directly at me and said it loud enough for everyone to hear, "Marie! Do you wanna beat this bitch ass?" I looked intensely back at her and said, "Yes mama." My mama curled the corner of her top lip up and said, "Well you betta whoop her ass then!" Now don't get it twisted, those were not words of encouragement, that was a blatant threat.

I knew if I didn't whoop this girls ass nearly to an inch of her life, my mom was gonna whoop my ass till I died, (dramatic I know, but remember I was 9) for embarrassing her from the fight and for losing. I could not let that happen. So I then unleashed a beast within me, that I never even knew existed. I ran forward and tackled that girl to the ground as if I was a football player and started throwing my fists every which way I could. There was absolutely no strategy involved, there was just pure determination. I could hear adults ferociously arguing in the background, but I was too busy whooping ass to notice who it was or where it was coming from.

After another hour of me beating this devils ass, (okay, maybe it was 1 minute or so) my mom grabbed me up, took me by my hand and we proceeded to walk back across the street to our house as the other adults cursed and yelled at her. She didn't say one word and she didn't even look back. That same look of pride I saw on my mom's face as we walked to the party was the same look on her face as we were walking back home 20 minutes later. Yeah, we were only at the party for maybe 20 minutes and my mom's only words were, "Damn! I didn't even get no ribs!"