When Mama Ain’t Happy

When Mama ain’t happy,
ain’t nobody happy.

“You’re so excited!” TBB said to me.  “Just listen to you!  You are bubbling!  It’s great!”

“I know,” I replied.  “I can feel it.”

Yeah, I can feel it.

I just can’t show it.  Mama ain’t happy, and that means nobody can be happy.

It’s amazing how our delight, joy and happiness gives permission to others to not only feel their feelings, but also to express them.   And it’s also amazing how expressing our feelings can build momentum, momentum to move us farther, momentum to get us over the rough spots.

My mother’s rule, though, since I was a child, is that exuberance is just too exuberant.   We had somber events, even the party ones, so sucked dry of excitement and festivity that a friend I knew in high schools said that my mother’s house was the place he would least like to spend Christmas.

So I’m excited, but I have to swallow that excitement around my family; my mother, my father who just hears noise rather than nuance, and my sister who has learned to keep her head down. And when I swallow, my sister finds me dour, unpleasant to be around.

I need that energy to move on.

But it makes my parents distressed.

Oy.