I sat in a doctor’s waiting room without a phone or a newspaper to read. I was just a-sittin’, observing those scattered about.
It is the art of observing that we are losing. And, with the fading away of studying people and tuning into their conversation, we are in danger of losing wisdom.
The Good Book says, “How much better to get wisdom than gold, to get insight rather than silver.” If you ignore what surrounds you – the people, their expressions, their words, their stories – you’ll never gain the nuggets of wisdom that will make you deeply smart.
Across the room, I heard a woman roar to another, “This is what you’re going to do. You’re goin’ to AutoZone to get a new battery. Then, you’ll return the other battery to Walmart and give them back your money.”
The woman speaking scooted to her seat’s edge, her back ramrod straight, hands pressed on her knees. Her black hair was unlayered and hung to her shoulders.
She was “Somers” in her mid-fifties. A no-nonsense look clouded her face, and the other woman was paying no attention.
She was watching a gentleman fumbling with his phone.
The woman, who had tuned out the static speech to her right, had thick, silver hair that came to her ears and was combed back. She wore a loose-fitting paisley knit top, dark slacks, and matching flats. She was not frail. She could probably pick up a bale of hay.
The black-haired woman took a moment, aggravation seeping over her face, then screwed her mouth into an annoyed pout.
What she said next, I knew it was coming—because, don’t forget, I’m an observer—“Mama, do you hear me?”
Mama. Been there.
I heard that—hundreds of times.
And, just like my own Mama, the dignified woman turned to her daughter, “Yes, I heard you, but I ain’t going to do it. You leave me be, and I’ll handle my doings.”
Disappointedly, my name was called before I witnessed the end of the tug-of-war. But the wisdom I have gained over the years of participating in such situations assured me of this: Mama would win, the daughter would get riled up, and, more than likely, say something to the effect of, “From now on, you just handle your own business, and I’ll stay out of it.”
That Mama likely refrained with a wave of her hand, “Fine. I’m plenty capable of takin’ care of myself. I raised you and three more just like you.”
Here’s the wisdom I’ve formed over the years: Except for the teenage difficulties, Mamas and daughters get along reasonably well until Mama turns 65.
This is when the daughter falsely thinks that the torch of authority has been passed so she can now be in charge of her mother.
“Did you take your blood pressure medicine?” “Did you call the doctor about that place on your cheek?”
“Did you pay your house insurance?”
Without fail, this is what happens: roles reverse. The once rebellious teenager who missed curfews, dated the wrong boys, and wore lipstick too red for an 11th-grader is now in command of the woman who kept her on a tight leash in her early years.
Payback time.
Aw, but Mamas are more intelligent than that.
They have 40 years more incredible experience than the upstart trying to overthrow Mama's government.
One thing is sure: the rookie is living out one of her Mama’s long-preached truths: “One day, young lady, you will pay for your raisin’.”
When I left the doctor’s room, the two women stood at the checkout counter. Big Mama watched Little Mama fiddle with insurance. Then, bored, announced, “You stay and take care of that. I’m goin’ on out to the car.”
The rookie had been snookered. Big Mama is still calling the shots.
Ronda Rich is the new bestselling author of St. Simons Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery.