Real Life Real Faith Mommy Matters Real Life Real Faith Mommy Matters May/June 2016 | Page 14


Biscuits, Boys and Babies

by Makasha Dorsey

“I'm blessed and I couldn't be more grateful. Do you want to know why? Because I'm a mother, but that's only half of it. I'm blessed because, when I need to, I can still just be a daughter. I get the feeling that there is nothing more precious than to have both of these roles, simultaneously.” ― Adrianna Stepiano

Country living is exactly that—country. From so thick southern drawls that take two minutes to utter eight-word sentences to the smell of rain so sweet your teeth ache, life in Northeast Mississippi was filled with all of the nuances and refinements of Southern hospitality.

My childhood was no different. When I was little, my cousins and I played outside making mud pies out of red clay dirt for hours on end. By the time I turned eight, my neighbors and I played kickball or softball in nearby pastures until night fell. As puberty approached, I learned etiquette and started participating in pageants for fun. I also developed a love for agriculture and technology and joined both 4-H and Technology Students Association. There was always something to do, even if I complained about being bored several times a day. When I played hard, I slept well.

The great thing about a good night’s sleep was waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, hot grits, sizzling ham and homemade biscuits so flaky you knew they’d melt in your mouth. Because my stepfather worked about forty minutes away, most of the time needing to hitch hike to work because of car problems, breakfast was usually eaten with my mom, my two sisters, and me. We’d talk about everything from church to personal projects and school or why the three of us were screaming at each other for no apparent reason as we got dressed.

As frustrating as her life was, my mother seldom screamed at us. It was also a rare occasion that she was too busy to spend time with us. It seemed that her entire life revolved around her girls as she collectively called us. She made sure we were confident, good mannered, well dressed children who loved God.

She also made sure that we saw her accomplish things. My mom was a teen mom; a very young teen. Back in the seventies, when a teenage girl got pregnant—as if she did it to herself—she had to drop out of school. My mother persevered, studied hard and got her GED. To some, that might not be an accomplishment but that decision set her up to become more than an unwed, uneducated teenage mom.