Amid the darkest night, the brightest star.

Mischievous humor and twinkling eyes,

A smile to rival brightest skies.

Nor can I forget that rapier wit,

Enough to chop you down to size, or make you stop—and ponder life a bit.

Will I one day be someone like you? Strong and wise, in control and caring, even when from afar.

Someone who can learn and teach, maintaining dignity, joy and pride when the lessons of life are unfair and hard?

On the daily I think about you, and cherish the part of you that lives and thrives in me.

Maybe I don’t tell or show you enough, but I’m grateful for who you are—thankful to you for the gift of my heartbeat.

Expressions like these, they’re just mere words—hardly enough for the woman who is a large part of why I live and breathe.

Author’s background on MAMA NEWSOME:

I miss my grandmother. As I wrote this on October 9, 2009 I realized that a month from the previous day, she would have been gone for 3 years. The time flew by. She was an amazing woman. Mother to 11 (do the math folks—pregnant for 8 years and 3 months). Brilliant woman.  She was bedridden the last 3 or 4 years of her life, and yet somehow always knew what was going on with everyone before anyone else.  What kind of person does it take to call from her bed and say, you need to check on your cousin/aunt/sister? I’ll tell you. It’s the kind of person that would listen in to Bible study faithfully via phone and be able to tell you who was new or visiting based on voice recognition. I have no grandparents left, and each of my parents is the oldest child in their respective families. Someone said to me, “Your parents are the oldest people in your family now.” Intellectually I knew that. But I hadn’t quite thought of it that way. It’s a sobering concept.

So what brought on this wave of nostalgia? My mother—she has so many of her mother’s mannerisms. She’s the new incarnation of my Mama Newsome. So I went to kiss her goodnight that night, and it was the way she turned her head and blew kisses at me. My grandmother used to do that. She called it “fish kisses”. When my Mama craned her neck toward me, she looked just like my grandmother. I was transported to 3.5 years ago and Woodlawn Drive in Jackson, MS, so much so that I started crying right then and there because I miss my grandma. All that made me think of the poem I wrote for my grandmother. I was supposed to give it to her at a mini family reunion we were going to have at her house. The weekend it was planned was the weekend Katrina hit. So we never had it, and I never gave her the poem. Instead, I put it on her obituary. Enjoy it.  Reminisce with me.

Many religious and cultural traditions have a variation on this principle. There is a practical and social benefit to according the guardians of our youth proper respect. Ideally, bonds are sown in communities between youth and elder that cement unique values and behaviours designed to foster social harmony and the passing of wisdom through generations.

As with any social network, the system is not without its flaws. Elders compete with other influences for the attention of youth. The divide of perspectives through generations sees huge splits not just between age, but other factors like education and technology that also shape ideology. However, the lessons of elders that do leave their impressions hold a strong sway over a person as they progress beyond youth and become elders themselves. Indeed, with all the tensions that are traditional between elder and youth, the ideas that breach the divide and hold firm can only do so with a lasting, profound impact.

Consider, then, the youth that rages against a parent, particularly on ideas around religion. The youth loses the parent to premature death, but finds meaning in the religious lessons left behind, and becomes a devout evangelist in adulthood. Their ideology is somewhat conservative because the parent’s reaction to their rebellious youth was to extol the stricter aspects of faith as a protection against the whims of human desires.

Consider the youth that enjoyed a closer relationship with their parent based on their accord on religious principles. No matter what tensions existed in the realms of political and other issues, the youth has always felt the warm embrace of their parent symbolized chiefly in the harmony of their religious ideals. The youth’s religious upbringing was somewhat liberal, emphasizing the joy of acceptance in divine love and tolerance through humility of the ego. If anything, this upbringing was the parent’s reaction to their relationship with their own parent, which was far more distant.

Who is right when the two meet and debate ideology? Both see in the other elements that either disrespect the memory of a lost parent or undermine the close connection currently held with a parent. Worse, they see in each other the pratfalls of religious perspective that were exactly what their parents tried to shepherd them from in their youth. To varying degrees this issue exists as a stumbling block to harmony not only across lines of religion, but also denominations within religions.

One can make the case that both need to think twice before being too critical of the other. Much joy can come from sharing that which brings strength to our spirit. However, pushing that too hard on others who are already sustained in their walks can demand a dishonouring of a fundamental relationship not just in society, but religion. Paul takes this principle a step further in Romans 14, showing that the desire to force discipline on freedom or tear down discipline with freedom can dishonour a fundamental relationship between human and divine. The personal standards we set for ourselves aren’t always a necessity for others, even if they stem from our spiritual walk.

Honouring our mothers and fathers doesn’t end with blood ties. We may find our ties better bound in society if we took greater steps to respect the way others honour their mothers and fathers.