When I was a kid my friends (and my not-friends) used to make fun of me by calling me Mama’s Boy. It was devastating. Cut me to the core. Absolutely leveled me.
But nowadays, there’s perhaps nothing that would make me prouder than if people – friends and not-friends alike – called me Mama’s Boy. Of course I’m a Mama’s Boy. How could I not be? My mom is a strong, smart woman. She’s been great at every job she’s ever had. She’s principled. She’s consistent. Measured. Loving. Patient. She’s been there for me every single time I needed her. She’s an awesome listener. She’s an All-Universe caliber conversationalist. She’s got a cool head and even temper, but she’s no pushover.
My mom, like so many of the women I’ve come to know in my 37 trips around the sun, is better and more capable than I am. Plain and simple.
After all this time maybe I’m not a Mama’s Boy… maybe I’m a Women’s Man? That’s fine with me. Act right, fellas. Join the club.