Good boy, Mama

Somewhere in a box stored away with all the other memories my family drags around from home to home as each new military assignment comes is a cassette tape.  In a world before vines, iPhones, Facebook and even the internet my parents kept their treasured moments in photo albums and cassette tapes.  On this tape you hear three voices speaking into the recorder.  The first is a squeaky toddler listing off animal sounds and Sesame Street characters.  His prepared statement is eagerly and cheerfully encouraged by a younger version of my father, the clear tenor of his voice yet unweathered by experience and hard-earned wisdom.  And then the last voice enters the scene.  It is higher than it is now, ringing like a soft bell.  There, frozen in that moment is the young girl, the new wife and newer mother with a bright naiveté that shines through the troubles that await her in the coming years.

There is my mother.

Every child has certain catchphrases that come about organically in their speech development.  My younger brother couldn't say my name correctly when he was small (mine has always been the hardest for kids to master).  Spencer, or even Spenc was shortened and endearingly captured as "Wemps," a name still tossed around teasingly today.

I was no exception.  When I wasn't quoting my beloved thespian muppets from the Barrio or reciting what animals made what noises I would spit out other more memorable gems.

I am the oldest child in my family.  I was raised and loved and nurtured in a boy's world.  When brothers came that didn't change much.  My sister wasn't even born until I was almost 9.  We grew up in a world where "boys will be boys."

"Atta boy"

"Oh, boy..."

"That's my boy."



Good boy.

For some reason that last one stuck early on.  And in a process similar to my brother's creation of "Wemps," I discovered a way to reciprocate praise to the owner of that bell-like voice of the tape recorder.

"Good boy, Mama!"

I didn't say it much, but the first time I did, she laughed and made sure to remember it forever.  And so I repeat, not to the memory captured on tape, but to today's Mom.  To the grown woman who raised not just me but five other children in a tight-knit family that has been tossed from house to house over the years.  To the caring, vibrant, beautiful woman who taught me how to be a good boy and a good man:

Good boy, Mama.

Well done.  I am constantly amazed at all that you do, all that you give, and all that you sacrifice for children who love you but don't always like you - who respect you but don't always show it.  Good boy, Mama.  You perform miracles everyday in an all too often thankless calling.  I love you.  We owe you everything.





Good boy to all Mamas.  And thanks for teaching us to be good boys.


Wemps