Little girls should always have a person to look up to, to admire and maybe even fantasize about becoming one day.
The glow of the classic, black and white movies mesmerized me as a child. I was like a moth to the flame. The glamourous starlets who captivated the movie screen were who I wanted to be as a child.
I wanted their perfect skin tone. I wanted their manicured fingernails. I wanted their voluminous curls. I wanted their style and grace.
The screen legends of Hollywood’s Golden Years captivated me as I tried to imitate their gestures, their inflections, their movements.
And every night, I dreamed of transforming myself into their manufactured yet natural beauty.
At the breakfast table every morning, my mother would sit me down to a meal. Ranging from Pop-Tarts to maybe a bowl of cereal, Momma did what she could do before heading off to work a double-shift.
I would talk her head off about the latest movie star that had my attention. I would fill her ears with ambitions of becoming a star, a household name, a beauty queen, a somebody.
Momma would try her best to hold her eyes open, still tired from a restless night. But she would listen to my ramblings, push back my bangs and tell me I could be anything I wanted to be.
I never knew she was tired because she worked long, late hours as a nurse. I never knew she barely had time to wash her own hair because she was busy putting mine in those sponge rollers like the movie stars I admired. I never knew she was exhausted from balancing a check book and trying her best to make ends meet as a single mother.
All I knew was that she wanted me to have that dream. She wanted me to feel smart, beautiful and protected.
And I never realized I had a hero much like those screen goddesses right in front of me.
My mother slowly became the woman I wanted to be as I grew older. I admired her work ethic, her kind nature, her wild spirit, her natural beauty, her solid intelligence.
And I admired the way she treated me.
Sure, Momma and I had our ups and downs. But there was never I time I doubted her love for me.
Momma was the one who stayed with me all through the night when I was sick. To this day, she drives to my adult home to take care of me when I complain about an ache or pain.
Momma pushed me through those hard homework lessons. When things didn’t make sense, and I thought I wasn’t very smart, Momma helped me through every problem. And as every answer soon appeared on the page, she reminded that my brain was one of my most important assets.
Momma would braid my hair when I would return home with a broken heart. She wiped away my tears and assured me that I was a beautiful girl. And, most importantly, that I was her daughter.
Momma mailed off college applications, job resumes. She encouraged me through every rejection letter and celebrated with me on every victory.
To this day, when I return to my childhood home, she has my newspapers articles clipped out and put away.
Momma let me learn some things the hard way. She tried to protect me when the seas got rocky. But she always dusted me off, even without me knowing sometimes.
Momma embraced the quirky things I enjoyed. She watched horror movies with me, listened to me recite Edgar Allan poems, shifted through vintage dress racks. She made me feel safe in all my interests and encouraged me to follow the beat of my own drum.
To this day, when I purchase a poodle skirt or invite her to a late-night Frankenstein movie viewing, she smiles. She never judges and tells me to go for it.
The movie stars of the past will always hold a place in my heart. But the legend that Momma has created within my spirit will remain long after movie credits roll.
She was and is my Momma. And she is all mine.
Tonight, I will take Momma to a dinner for her birthday. My checkbook may be small, but I hope to make her feel like a queen just as she did so many nights when money was tight.
And I hope she will accept this column as an additional birthday gift. I will never be able to repay her for all the blessings, laughs, lessons and adventures she has shared with me.
But my gift to her is to tell the world how special she is to me.
Happy birthday, Momma!
