I admit it — Mama was right

By MARY JANE HOLT
Contributing Writer

They say confession is good for the soul. Normally, I don’t put much store in what “they say.” But every now and then they hit on the truth about a thing or two.

And the Bible tells us that pride goes before destruction. Now I have no desire to self-destruct. So I try to watch out for that bad kind of pride.

Well, for six weeks now, if the truth be told, I’ve been wallowing in that bad brand. And it’s time to ‘fess up.

There are girls who emulate their moms from the get-go. Daughters who are so pleased to look like, sound like, and act like their moms. Since I’m not reclining on a high-dollar shrink’s black couch I won’t go into all the details about how and why I’m not one of those daughters. Suffice it to say, I do not choose to look like, sound like, or act like my mama.

Now, I’m not saying she is not worthy of such. If the truth be told, I suppose I don’t have many wrinkles in my face because of the genetic makeup she passed down to me. And in all honesty, I suppose I sound like her, too.

But I have chosen all my life not to act like her. I mean right down to the point of rebellion, I will not be like my mama! That, however, is not my confession of the day. That’s just the truth.

So what is that I have to say? And why is so hard for me?

Well, not only am I about to admit my mama was right about something, I’m about to tell you my baby sister is too. This hurts. So let it me just spit it out. Vick’s VapoRub works!

I am prone to laryngitis and bronchitis (again, like my mom) and she kept me bathed in the stuff while I was growing up. If I sneezed, the “Vicks Salve” was brought out. Not that it was ever put up. Mama kept it at the ready for whatever ailed anybody.

Sneezes, coughs, congestion, sore aching muscles… Absolutely, they all got treated with Vick’s. I swore, if I ever lived to get out of that house, I would never own a jar of the stinking stuff.

Then about a year ago, my baby sister was staying with me for a few days and she asked where I kept the Vick’s Salve. I proudly informed her that the only jar of that mess that had ever been in my house was that which Mama had brought with her on visits over the years. That’s what I told Baby Sis. Yes, proudly.

She said I was crazy. That she could not live without her Vick’s. That Mama would roll over in her grave if she knew I was talking like that.

Okay ... so, for six months last year I had laryngitis. From mid-December of 2002 to mid year, 2003. My doctors and I tried everything before it finally began to let up.

Then on the second Monday of October it hit again. My voice faded. Congestion set it. I don’t know what possessed me, but I went out and bought a jar. Yes, a jar of Vicks VapoRub. It worked. My voice was back within a week.

Then I tried it on Daniel’s aching shoulder. The one he aggravates when he shoots his bow or sits at a computer for an hour. It worked.

Then the ultimate test. Now, I don’t recall Mama ever using her Vicks for a cold sore (fever blister), but I’ve been prone to cold sores since childhood.

My cold sores are ten dayers. Occasionally one will run its course within seven days, but usually they are with me a full ten days. Until ...

Oh, this is so hard to admit! Until I tired my Vicks. On Nov. 25, when I first felt the cold sore coming on, I started applying my Vicks. Five days later it was gone.

Vick’s VapoRub works! I intend to never be with out again. I’m thinking about having an upstairs jar and a downstairs jar. Maybe even a jar for the truck and jar for the car.

I’m sure Mama’s rejoicing on the other side of Glory that I have finally seen the light. I can only imagine how my Baby Sister will gloat. I reckon I will just be ready to remind her that gloating is a first cousin to that pride thing.