Wednesday, May 5, 2004

Happy Mother’s Day

By RONDA RICH

Mama always claims that I don’t appreciate her. I do. She grouses that I take her for granted. I don’t.

There’s no way that I can.

You see, I am well aware that without Mama, I would have no career. Family lore says that my infatuation with the written word began in the womb when the doctor ordered Mama to bed during her pregnancy and, bored, she began reading her way through a set of encyclopedias. Though our kindred legend proclaims that this infused into me a love for words and books before birth, that is not how she helped me find my career path.

This has nothing to do with the facts that she always arranged for the bookmobile to stop at our house in the neighborhood, or that, at 4 years old, she signed me up for my first library card, or that at 6 years old, she began plopping me in front of folks to share my grandiose story-telling ways, or that she often bought me a Golden book at the grocery check-out counter, or even that she took in sewing to pay my way through college.

Yes, all of that was helpful but it pales in comparison to her real contribution to my life as a writer. Quite simply, Mama provides a tremendous amount of creative material. Without her, I’d have a lot less about which to write. Those who read my stuff, know as much about Mama as they know about me.

“I read that story you wrote about me,” she said the other day. “Since you’re making money off me, don’t you think you should at least buy me a new dress?”

Obviously, she’s a smart enough to realize her value to me, which means there should be some value to her.

I recently sold my first novel in New York. As writers do, especially with first novels, I drew inspiration from real life.

“I love this Mama character!” my editor said. “I think we should play her up more. You’ve really created a terrific character in her.”

“Created?” I asked incredulously. “I didn’t create her. I live with her.”

Mama, thank goodness, isn’t boring. Aggravating, yes. Funny, definitely. Irrepressible, always. The best part is that she’s maternally typical, which causes readers to relate. She badgers, worries, nurtures and doesn’t hesitate to knock me down a notch or two with comments such as, “Your sister is the prettiest girl I’ve got.”

“Are you sure we don’t have the same mother?” women will often ask me.

I took her with me on a book tour throughout Mississippi. Everyone adored her and begged to know when she was coming back. No one asked that about me. In retrospect, though, I should have known I was in trouble when I saw her signing autographs.

You never know what’s coming out of my mother’s mouth. But one thing you can always know: when it comes out, if it’s good enough and funny enough, it goes down on paper.

“I keep telling you to be careful what you say around her,” my sister, Louise, points out regularly to Mama. “You know she’ll use it to her benefit.”

My friend, Karen, said it best.

“You better hope that your mama lives a long time. Because when she goes, your best material goes with her.”

Sad, but probably true. Come to think about it, maybe it is time, after all, to buy her a new dress. Or two.

[Ronda Rich is the author of “What Southern Women Know (That Every Woman Should)” and “My Life In The Pits.” She lives in Gainesville, Ga.]

What do you think of this story?
Click here to send a message to the editor.