February 13, 2008
Originally published December 26, 2003
My mama sure knows how to cook a good, old-fashioned country breakfast. We had eggs, sausage, bacon, biscuits and gravy this morning. I pigged out. I LOVE my mama's cooking.
I sometimes wonder if her food is really that good, or if I just like it because I grew up eating it all my life. Naw. I don't wonder. It's really that good.
This morning, she was wearing a stocking cap with a big white snowball on the tassel, the kind that Santa's elves wear. After breakfast, we sat on the back porch while the boys went over to the church playground to try to kill themselves on the monkey-bars. She took her hat off. She is as bald as an egg.
"Mama, you've got a good-looking bald head," I told her. "My head is too damned lopsided. I must have inherited that from my father. I wouldn't be nearly as pretty as you are if all my hair fell out."
"I don't wear a hat because I'm bald," she replied. "My head gets cold. Everybody tells me that I have a pretty head, but I freeze if I'm not wearing a hat. I wear one almost all the time now. I must have 50 of them."
She's having surgery and another round of chemo next month. That's going to be a rough row to hoe, but if anybody can do it, Mama can. She's tough.
I am a goddam wimp by comparison.
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