Velociworld

I Am My Mama's Son

Are there any more powerful words in any language? I think not. Rob is carrying a powerful burden here. My heart reaches out to him, because he is a great and dear friend. But those words speak volumes to me. Of a man who knows his origins, and who he owes his life, wisdom, and sense of love to.

Rob is a great guy because of how his mother raised him. And his father, of course. Mothers are the great sculptors of our souls, though. That is a given. One's father quarries the raw stone that he lugs home, then watches, in amazement, as a mother sculpts that uneven, unwieldy mass into a child, then a boy, then, finally, a man. Who she is proud of. And who engenders pride in himself.

It isn't rocket science, but it is damned hard work, and I've seen it go awry many a time. To produce a child who turns into a man you are proud of, who treats others with fairness, grace, and dignity, is as immortal an achievement as any mother, any woman, can ever hope for.

Miss Elva has done that. Twice. That is powerful, and affirming.

My thoughts are with Rob tonight, and tomorrow, and on and on. His mama is tough. She'll continue to be tough. Wish them the best, Intrepids. They are the the salt of the earth, and my kind of people.