Mama Face

I’m not exactly sure when this happened, but apparently I have grown into my “mama face.” This is not to be confused with my “narc face,” which I’ve been told repeatedly that I have. Or my “social worker face” which the state issues the first time you have to go into a hoarder’s home. No, mama face is something that I think comes with wisdom, or at least maturity, which isn’t always the same thing. Until yesterday, I wasn’t sure I had it, at least not with any children not my own. I was in the grocery store. Having discovered that ice cream is half off I went over to obtain several cartons. I’d just realized that they were out of dulce de leche when I heard these girls using some of the most foul language ever. I turned to put the ice cream in my cart and faced the girls. They literally stopped in their tracks. I saw both of them swallow hard. Then they nodded and scurried away. It took me a moment to realize that I was probably wearing my “the negro community frowns on your shenanigans” expression, but those girls apparently recognized it right away. Obviously they’d been raised right and knew better, but were choosing not to do better until they  were reminded of their home-training.

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