sun-day morning...
and we were all assembled in the day-room--some playing cards silently, others eating the leftover cookies from last night--and in the corner of the room was the television. and mamma wanted to praise the lord.
the first night i was there, mamma took me aside, put her arm around me, and told me, "i want you to call me mamma, okay?" and when i asked her why, she said, "'cause baby...that's what everyone calls me. back where i used to live, i would sit on the porch and all the children would come over, and i'd bake 'em cookies 'cause most of them parents was gone all day, so i became like a mamma to 'em." i took a good look at her, she was about 50-something years old--5 foot 2 when her hair was plastered to her head, and 5 foot 6 when she crawled out of bed and the hair screamed out in all directions. i imagined her much like i would my own grandmother--until i found out later that she used to sell a decent amount of crack out of the home. my grandmother would never sell crack, but she would praise the lord.
on this warm sunday, as ten of us sat in this cramped, hotter-than-fuck room, mamma watched her sunday morning church program. a service in progress. one of those where the preacher is enormous, and he is constantly wiping sweat from his forehead. and mamma stood there, waving her arms, and attempting to sing the songs along w/the congregation. until dirty mike (some speed freak that sported the most hideous mullet i had ever seen decided there was to be no more praising the lord in his presence. he took the remote that lay next to him, and changed the channel.
mamma turned back, her gentle eyes now boiling w/a rage usually reserved for cops...when you kick them hard in the balls. "what the fuck you doing, ya stupid redneck?!" she shouted. "i've had enough of this shit," he responded. time for football." and he sat back on the sofa w/no worries at all. 'but..but...you muthafucka! i was praising the lord jesus! turn it back now!"
"no," he said. "nobody else in here wants to watch that baloney anymore."
someone had gone to get the staff, and two huge men came in and went over to mamma. "you tell that fuckin' honkey to turn it back! muthafucka! i'm just trying to praise!" and they grabbed mamma and began to drag her away. "i want to praise!" she screamed. "you can't stop me from praisin'!" and then she looked up and spit into one of the staff members faces...
i didn't see mamma until the next morning group. she came from her room wearing a bright red dress and an elegant hat to match. and her flipflops.
and i was suddenly very sorry for doing what i did to land myself in here...
and we were all assembled in the day-room--some playing cards silently, others eating the leftover cookies from last night--and in the corner of the room was the television. and mamma wanted to praise the lord.
the first night i was there, mamma took me aside, put her arm around me, and told me, "i want you to call me mamma, okay?" and when i asked her why, she said, "'cause baby...that's what everyone calls me. back where i used to live, i would sit on the porch and all the children would come over, and i'd bake 'em cookies 'cause most of them parents was gone all day, so i became like a mamma to 'em." i took a good look at her, she was about 50-something years old--5 foot 2 when her hair was plastered to her head, and 5 foot 6 when she crawled out of bed and the hair screamed out in all directions. i imagined her much like i would my own grandmother--until i found out later that she used to sell a decent amount of crack out of the home. my grandmother would never sell crack, but she would praise the lord.
on this warm sunday, as ten of us sat in this cramped, hotter-than-fuck room, mamma watched her sunday morning church program. a service in progress. one of those where the preacher is enormous, and he is constantly wiping sweat from his forehead. and mamma stood there, waving her arms, and attempting to sing the songs along w/the congregation. until dirty mike (some speed freak that sported the most hideous mullet i had ever seen decided there was to be no more praising the lord in his presence. he took the remote that lay next to him, and changed the channel.
mamma turned back, her gentle eyes now boiling w/a rage usually reserved for cops...when you kick them hard in the balls. "what the fuck you doing, ya stupid redneck?!" she shouted. "i've had enough of this shit," he responded. time for football." and he sat back on the sofa w/no worries at all. 'but..but...you muthafucka! i was praising the lord jesus! turn it back now!"
"no," he said. "nobody else in here wants to watch that baloney anymore."
someone had gone to get the staff, and two huge men came in and went over to mamma. "you tell that fuckin' honkey to turn it back! muthafucka! i'm just trying to praise!" and they grabbed mamma and began to drag her away. "i want to praise!" she screamed. "you can't stop me from praisin'!" and then she looked up and spit into one of the staff members faces...
i didn't see mamma until the next morning group. she came from her room wearing a bright red dress and an elegant hat to match. and her flipflops.
and i was suddenly very sorry for doing what i did to land myself in here...
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
[Edited on Sep 04, 2004 5:17PM]