Mother

A hometown friend of mine during the X-Mas holidays introduced me to his sister using my full name. She smiled warmly and said hello. He could tell she hadn’t quite gotten the full import of the introduction. He repeated, Lisa Fleming, Aurora Fleming’s daughter.  Her eyes popped open and her expression changed to dare I say a mixture of delight and terrified recognition.  “Wow, oh my God, your Mom didn’t play!”  I giggled, accustomed to this particular reaction of many a former elementary student, now full-grown with their own grown children, at the mere mention of my mother’s name.

Standing at five feet two and a half inches (barely) and fully in her octogenarian years, sorry Mom, but I didn’t disclose the actual year, this woman is the definition of formidable. She was born on a back porch in Danville Kentucky, because my grandmother, Juanita Slaughter Martin refused to bear her child in a segregated hospital.

“They don’t know, I’m J. Aurora Fleming’s child,” is a phrase my sister uses when recounting difficult situations. People will remark upon my ability to withstand pressure or make up my mind quickly, despite being a Libra. I tell them I was reared by a Capricorn Mom.

Look at yourself in the mirror, if you don’t like what you see, change.  You don’t believe fat meat is greasy. Let go and let God. When your hand is in the lion’s mouth, ease it out. Never back an animal into a corner. If you can count all of your friends on one hand, consider yourself lucky.

We learned to clean a whole house, do laundry and cook as children, cleanliness is next to godliness.  “I’m rearing productive citizens, you need to know how to take care of yourself.”

In grade school, tired of my healthy red apple snack for lunch, I traded it for a pack of smarties. My Mom watched it all go down, then swooped in to reverse the trade. You eat what your parents provide.  We couldn’t wait for Mom to host bridge night in hopes of getting the remnants of junk food but dang those ladies barely left a crumb.

My taste in music, eclectic. Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Camelot, The Music Man, Barbara Streisand, Dinah Washington, Miles Davis, Herb Alpert, Roberta Flack, Carole King, all album covers in my Mom’s collection.

I wasn’t allowed to get my ears pierced until I was sixteen. Mother had a dressmaker for custom clothes. Black was “forbidden for young ladies” but I knew I was grown when I was able to borrow a grey Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress and carry her leather and canvas Oleg Cassini luggage on a trip to New York.

I grew up with Architectural Digest, Time, Esquire for my brother and Women’s Wear Daily when it was a broadsheet newspaper. Ebony, Jet and Essence were at the hairdresser.

Sex education and learning how to handle your liquor, all taught at home.  It didn’t matter that my parents were divorced, it was my Mom who instructed my brother on condom use. The naked body was nothing to be ashamed of and I should always pick a good lover.

Your word is your bond, are you an empty pitcher in front of a full flowing fountain and you didn’t come here just to sit, you must give back and help out anyway and anywhere you can. Thanks Mom!