Momma…Open This


          Happy Mother’s Day – Beautiful

          Which every day should be a day to honor thy mothers, especially when you think about all the things they go through with their bodies and chemical emotions that range from puberty, menstrual cramps, pregnancy with all the stretching and tearing; to getting their hair nicely, to a range of things that us men could never fathom.  I thank God daily that I was not born a woman, cause walking around for nine months with another life inside of me and having the guardian responsibility of that life … Just seem like a lot of work (lol)., Of course that’s just me. Its 2013 and there are a lot of gay guys out there that would love to experience the whole womanly ability. I’m not one of them. 

          The late R&B singer, James Brown once sung “This is a man;s world” and what goes unnoticed a lot is the second verse to his hit song “This is a man’s world, but it would be nothing WITHOUT A MOMAN’S TOUCH!” Women. Mothers, too often go undervalued. Which is sad.

          My Mother’s name is Angelice Marie Johnson-Mamou, and she’s the most amazing woman and mother I have ever laid eyes on. Like most urban life stories, we grew up poor. My mother was a single parent and worked two – eight hour work shifts, and a part time job, six days out of a week, She worked that hard to be the sole provider over her household. Not that it was all needed because we could have gotten by with her working one full time job-maybe. But my mother wanted her children to look nice. As she always said, “Just because we are poor, don’t mean we have to look like it” So my siblings and I wore the expensive fila or B.K shoes, the 501 butter fly Levi jeans, and Geubeaux pants. We ate pretty good. Went on summer vacations. We had some spending change in our pockets for snacks and whatnots. All because my mother sacrificed and depended on no one else for help.

          My Mother was also figuratively my father. She would put a leather belt to our asses with the quickness when we acted up and had the nerve to explain why she was beating our ass while actually doing it (lol)  She would play wrestle with us and even paid to have the boys take up boxing lessons to toughen us up. She  mowed her own lawn, fixed whatever had broke around the house. She cooked and cleaned daily before going to work. Thought tired, she still found enough energy to help us with our homework, and placed our neatly ironed clothes out for each child to go to school the next day.

          When we were sick she would come up with some home made remedy that always worked, e.g. If you had a chest cold; hog lawd grease and warm honey is what she would give us, and whatever was in us came out. Trust me (lol) If we had a cold or flu., warm whiskey and tea with a dash of lemon juice would reduce the sickness instantly.

          Fact is, I don’t have enough paper to write down all of the motherly-qualities that my mother has displayed day in and day out. From the moment I exited her womb.

          Then this bullshit (imprisoned on Texas Death row) happened. I can not express how sorry I feel every damn day I wake, knowing the pain and grief my mother also goes through having her oldest baby in prison. I get nauseated just thinking about the reality of it being my fault that her life was changed in a instant also. She is also doing time with me.

          Let me tell you why my mother lives up to her name, Angel. When she was on the stand testifying for me a juror sneezed and my mother stopped the court proceedings just to tell that heffa “God bless you” I on the other hand would have told that juror a piece of my mind, like “Kiss my mutha…”

          anyway… This isn’t about me.

          My mother never asked me, not once, about what happened that lead me into this judicial mess I find myself drowning in. For her she’s just glad I’m alive and I suppose some questions don’t need to be asked when there when there’s no relevance for a response. Sheppard’s know their sheep, and mothers know their children.

          When I was homesick and talking ‘crazy’ my mother would literally force my baby mommas and children to come visit me; knowing that seeing them would lift my spirits, Whatever I needed, she still sacrifice to make sure that I get whatever I need.  When I enrolled into college to take Political Science classes she scrapped up the money needed for the expensive books I needed. Everyone seems to fade in and out of my life, but the ‘only’ person who has never wavered a inch is my mother. Through thick and thin , she’s always there.

          My Mother is beautifully amazing. I’ll admit … ha …ha  that I can be quite difficult to deal with (dealing with this death row shit isn’t as easy as I make it appear).  There have been, and no doubt will be times when I feel like giving up. Felt that I was better off dead. Then I look upon my gloomy cell’s wall for that small spot of inspiration: A small photo of my mother and me in the world. I have been having this old discolored faded photo since 1998. I’m in a tailor made suit and tie, kissing my mom on the forehead after Chardoina’s christening. That warm smile on her face always lead me out of the shadows of Death, every time I look at it.  She’s my sole reason of why I fight so hard to get free, and you can bet your soul I will get free again-soon. My mother says it so, and so shall it be.

          I love you Momma with a love that can evoke the fiery lava emotions of a active volcano. With a love that is as virtuous as poetic, that the Irish God, Angus Og, envies you. You are my life, my wealth, my strength, my Queen, and my sui generis mother could have been paired with me and been so perfect for me. I love you greatly.


          To all mothers of the world I send each of you a spiritual hug and warm wishes on your Day, that is ‘every day’.

Written by Charles Chucky Mamou April 2013

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