I caught a glimpse of myself sitting the other day, legs crossed, and realized that the yoga pants that bag over the top of my shoes when I’m standing somehow come halfway up my calves when I’m sitting, exposing my socks and a bit of winter pale leg — just the way Mom’s always did. I have a pain in my right leg that makes me stand funny when I first get out of the chair — just the way Mom always did. I was watching a movie the other night with this obnoxious kid who totally ignored everything his mother told him, and I caught myself muttering, “I’d box his ears.” Just the way Mom always did.
(I don’t say “box his ears.” Never. At least, until now. Mom was the boxer. I’m a smacker.)
When we went to the 4th of July cookout at my uncle’s this year, one of my aunts whom I haven’t seen in a while put her hand to her heart when I walked up and said, “Lord, you look just like your mama.”
When I saw myself with sitting that day — old lady socks and white skin showing — I thought the same thing.