My Name is Mama
"Oh, that's a nice drawing," I told the little boy in my first-grade class. "Are you done?" "Just a minute," he said, "It's for my mom, I just need to write her name on it." Then he carefully scrawled, in his best six-year old writing, the letters "M-O-M." My mind went back to an earlier conversation I had with my own daughter, who is his age. "Look Mama! I made this picture of you. It even has your name on it. See? It says 'Mama!' And I wrote 'I love you' a bunch of times because I love you a LOT!!" That's when it dawned on me. To her, my name is Mama. The more I thought about it, the deeper I felt this statement. There's no other role I play that changes my entire name. I don't go by wife, or cousin, or teacher, though I am all of those things. I retain my identity, who I've been my whole life. But being a mom is different. It's not just a part of my life - it changes all ...