(Maurice Weathersby passed away on September 14, 2010. I was asked to write something to be read at her funeral today, and I've copied it for you below.)
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Everyone has mothers and grandmothers, but I’m the only one that had a “Mama Joe.”
I wasn’t even two years old when we became buddies. She had worked for my grandparents for years, and when my mom went back to work full-time, I needed a babysitter.
It was love at first sight.
Back then kids could sit on the middle armrest in the front seat of cars. And that has to be my first memory – sitting there with the whole world in front of me. Mama Joe on my left; Papa Joe on my right.
Now, from my point-of-view, there wasn’t a whole lot of babysitting going on. It was more fun.
She took me everywhere she went. We had lodge meetings to go to. There was a church to build. And those goldfish she put in her backyard needed a lot of attention.
I can’t forget to mention her sisters, Pauline and Thelma. Those ladies made me laugh even when I was a little boy. Thelma and I called each other “Malarkey.” And now that I know that word means “nonsense” and “foolishness”, it makes me laugh even more.
Mama Joe still worked for my grandparents, so it wasn’t all fun and games. We had work to do. There were meals to cook, and when the holidays came along, we were extra busy. Christmas will never roll around that I don’t think of her and how important it was to her that everything be just right.
I’ve been told that we were seen around town so much that people thought that I was her little boy. And I hear, that she didn’t like that very much. Obviously, we didn’t “match.”
But if the truth is known, we were a perfect match. And I was her little boy, blonde hair and all. I will always love her pink house, her chocolate pies, and riding on that armrest.
I will always love Mama Joe.