The Things My Mama Taught Me

"Why did I have to be a girl?" I asked, grumbling, with my arms crossed against my chest. I winced as Mama combed out a nasty tangle. It was one of many. I wondered if there were really that many tangles or if she was secretly punishing me for all I've done — for all those times I didn't do as told. Although I tried to do right, it didn't always happen because of imperfection and all.

Each time Mama braided, she had a habit of leaning in real close, wanting to grab every strand of hair at the roots. "Because I asked God to give me a baby girl, and that's exactly what he did." Unlike the other ladies, Mama never liked to get her nails done.

I winced. "Well," I huffed. "Why couldn't you have asked for a boy?" Then I wouldn't have to go through all this.

"I didn't want one."

My shoulders lowered once she braided down towards my right ear. "Why not?" This hard wooden stool was really starting to make my butt hurt. "I can't dress up the same as a boy, now can I? We wouldn't be able to be twins for a day. We wouldn't be able to get our nails done or do any of the stuff I love to do with you." She bent down just a bit to plant a wet kiss on my forehead. "It'll get better, baby."

"Yeah... when I'm bald." I tilted my head to the side so she could start again.

"Do you want to be?" She asked. I stopped to think it over. I had to think quickly because my brain cells were dying with every knot that was combed out of a strand of hair. Did I want to be bald? Well, being bald might be better than this torture. It felt like I was getting my head raked every Sunday before school. Mama wouldn't have to do my hair until Wednesday if it was a good week. If it was a bad week and the weather was humid, I was in for a hairdo every other day.

At the same time, I liked to look pretty with my curls and my buns and my puffs and my braids.

"Well, no," I answered truthfully.

"Then stop your complaining. You sound worse than the Israelites.”

"But Mama, it hurts!" I whined again. And it did.

She shrugged, "A lot of things hurt in life Journee. That's just life for you."

"Like what?" I asked doubtfully.

"Like what what?" she asked, losing track of the conversation. Was I going to have to put her in one of those homes?

"What hurts?" I asked.

"Menstrual cramps, heartbreaks, breaking an arm, surgery, vaccinations, paper cuts, burns and the list goes on."

"So why do things hurt Mama?"

"That's a good question." I know, I thought so too, or I wouldn't have asked.

"So what's the answer?" I asked, trying to resist the urge to feel my head to see how close I was to being done. Doing so would mean Mama would slap the back of my hand with the comb.

"Don't have one." She said too nonchalantly for my liking. There were times when I thought she was too calm. There could be a roaring fire in our kitchen, burning anything and everything to dust, and she would be making her way calmly to exit slower than a sloth. "But you're supposed to know everything."

"Says who?"

"Says me." Everyone knows Mama knows everything. Mama always knew the right things to say and the right things to do. You can ask any one of my aunts, and they could tell you. Auntie J always called Mama to talk about money — how to spend it and how to save it. Auntie A'ja always wanted advice about boys, and Auntie Jojo was always in need of help. If it wasn't one thing, it was another.

As if she someone had cut the music and the rhythm to which she had been braiding stopped, her hands stopped moving. She turned my head to look at her. People always told me I looked her like, but I couldn't see it yet besides the bushy brows and the thick lips that I always found myself biting. "Let me tell you something, Journee, in life, no matter how long you go to school, no matter how much education you get, no matter how many books you read, or no matter how many questions you look up on Google, you will never ever know all the answers." She explained, looking me in the eye. Whenever she bored her eyes into mine, I always felt like her words sunk deeper into my brain.

"No matter how hard I try?" I asked.

"No matter how hard you try." She restated.

"That sucks," I said, defeated. There was no point in trying now.

With my head turned and the music only she could hear playing again, she started braiding. "You're going to have to deal with a lot of things in life that suck."

"Like what?"

"Like your car running out of gas in the middle of the road, not having enough money to pay rent, losing your keys every five seconds, being late to work, having to wake up early on a frigid morning, and so on."

"Mama," I called out as if she was far away, but she was just a few inches away.

"Yes," she answered while parting my hair to apply a generous amount of pomade to my dry desert-like scalp.

"Growing up sounds hard." My heart started to beat really fast in a way I didn't like. Was this what they called anxiety?

"It is."

"I don't want to grow up."

"I don't want you to grow up either. But you have to." When she moved to the following strands of hair, she had to comb them four times to get out all the tangles. That was the most so far.

"I'm scared."

"You don't have to be. When have I ever left you alone?

I didn't have to think much, I had my answer. "Never."

"And I won't start now. I'll be there to help you."

"Help me grow up?" Was that even possible? I wasn't a plant that she could water every day.

"Mhm."

"But how are you going to do that?" I asked.

"I'll have to teach you some things."

"What kind of things?"

"You'll see as the time comes."

"Okay, Mama." I sat silently on the stool until she was finished. I had a lot to think about. My Mama sure was smart, and I couldn't wait to see what she had to teach me. Growing up seemed really really hard but I was glad that I had her to help me and God to guide me.

What more could I ask for?