Mom would have no problem running a prison. She knew
how to call 'em and she knew what you were thinking and she knew what hurt and
what didn't and she didn't give a rat's ass if your best friend Tommy got away
with murder. But if you said "rat's ass," you got another night of
jail at home with no TV.
As I grew toward puberty and asked Mom who gave her
the authority to Lord it over me, her answer snapped back without hesitation.
"GOD anointed me. Now go clean up your room!" At age twelve I
was almost as tall as the little woman. When I offered to arm wrestle her
to determine if it was really my turn to do the dishes, she accepted. And
won.
The United
States Constitution would not allow my mother’s brand of punishment to violate
an inmate’s human rights. Mom might do a great job running the State
Prison, but she would eventually spend all her time in court defending herself
against civil rights suits.
The Constitution also serves to
prevent the practice of Mom-ism outside prison walls by those who want to
control us as though we are children. Laws said to protect us
continue to whittle away our freedoms. Rights are demoted to privileges
and whatever is dangerous becomes licensed. We see this over-protective attitude in the public sphere’s fixation on
safety and security. Often the new laws and regulations seem very
practical.
But that's the great thing about America.
Sometimes we’re willing to replace practical wisdom with impractical
abstractions, because without an impractical idea like freedom our personal
abilities could not unlock our promise. We wouldn’t live up to our
potential nor mature as a nation.
My mother knew when to stop acting like a Mom.
It was probably difficult for her. Allowing me to follow my own paths as
I grew up may have seemed impractical to her at times. But she knew I
would in some ways be rid of her in the future, as she had grown beyond her
parents. I would build a worthwhile life based on my freedom rather than
another person's wisdom, even hers.
The power Mom wielded over me as a child was long ago
replaced by a mutual respect, built brick by brick while I advanced to
maturity. Mom became important to me as a person and not as a set of
rules. I was free to do as I pleased, to enjoy the fruits or accept the
consequences of my actions. She might have continued to insist I obey
her, but she was smart enough to know that seldom succeeded. Instead she
let the reins slacken a little at a time while she rode herd on my adolescence
and I galloped toward my independence. I arrived there certainly not
without her help, but without her holding my hand. But I suppose that’s
just a son’s opinion.
copyright 2012, David Griffin
The Windswept Press
Murrells Inlet, South
Carolina
