My mom worries about us all the time. She had four beautiful, smart, God-fearing, healthy children so she could worry about us all the time. At first, I thought it was because we were young and dumb and irresponsible and it was a parent's job to make sure that their young, dumb and irresponsible kids didn't end up pierced, tatted, pregnant or dead in a ditch somewhere. Not to mention that's how she was raised—strict, close to the bosom and with switch in hand when necessary. But we weren't that dumb or irresponsible. She was just afraid that we'd end up like the other irresponsible teens she saw walking around.
But as we grew older, she only grew more worried. Instead of pining over us falling off of our bikes or injuring our ankles during the volleyball or basketball game or during a track meet, she worried about when we'd find jobs, what man would sucker us into marrying them, accidents we could potentially get into in the wee hours of the morning and if we would settle down enough to give her some grand babies.
I found it annoying at first. Then cute...then annoying again, but then I understood it. It’s a mothers job to worry about that very person she created—to make sure that this world we live in doesn't take advantage of us and that our naivety doesn't teach us a lesson that's going to take 10 years to clean up. Or so that the difficult beating inflicted on us by the real world doesn't discourage us from aspiring to greatness. It’s her job to guard our hearts so that no man breaks it bad enough to where we think about giving up on love. She’s our protector, castle Queen, provider, psychologist counselor and spirit guide and she’ll give her right leg before she lets anyone disrespect her babies. I’m grateful for no other woman before her.