Chicken Soup for the African American Woman's Soul Read Online Free PDF

mother was younger. She used to be the family’s number one dancer, dancing all night and lasting longer on the dance floor than all the other guests that came to visit. I longed to know this dancing lady, as I was the dancer of my generation, known for my own smooth moves; I wanted to share that joy with my mom. Maybe the dance floor would be the common ground where we would finally connect! I had never seen this dancing woman, though; the woman I grew up with had traded in her dancing shoes for house slippers.
    As I became an adult and interested in psychology and self-development, I began to understand people better. I soon realized that my mom loved me and did for me as much as she could. After a while, I understood that my mom was in pain; however, I did not know how to help her. Fortunately, from somewhere, she found the strength to help herself.
    After more than twenty years of battling obesity, my mother completed a vigorous eighteen-month diet that left her ninety pounds lighter than before. A new woman was born! At age twenty-eight, I got a newmom!When I looked at her, I knew she was my mom, but I could not believe that she was real. This jubilant, energetic and lively woman was all mine to call Mom. For the first time, I met the woman my mother truly was, the beautiful little lady underneath the obesity. She now weighed a whopping 125 pounds. It wasn’t so much her new body that was the surprise, but rather her new spirit.
    To celebrate her new size and to rededicate herself to dance, my mother joined a “Mrs. Forty-Plus” competition, where she would have to model, give a speech and provide a dance performance. She told our family that she did not care if she won—she simply had always wanted to be in a pageant, to walk down a runway and perform on stage.
    She told each one of us, “I’m not doing it to win; I’m doing it to dance!”
    â€œI’m not doing it to win; I’m doing it to celebrate.”
    â€œI’m not doing it to win; I’m doing it because . . . now I can!”
    The competitionwas intense!Many women—well–seasoned with their elegant salt-and-pepper hair—graced the runway with style and assurance. Ther ewere many beautiful women there full of talent and grace, but none had just accomplished the amazing feat my mom had to get herself to this place of confidence. I prayed that my mom would win, but while watching her on stage I was simply overjoyed just by her effort. To me, she had already won. She posed to perfection, her speech brought tears to everyone’s eyes, and her performance emulating Janet Jackson stopped the show. She spun, she kicked, and she even danced on the chair like Janet Jackson did in her onstage performances. Who was this lady on stage with black leggings, a rhinestone vest, a headmicro-phone and a Rhythm Nation baseball cap looking like a professional performer?
    That night, at age forty-three, my mother was crowned “Mrs. Forty-Plus.” She was the first person in our family to ever win such a title. With this new woman, my mother was born again. She gave herself a new chance at life—as a model, a dancer, a mother and a friend. At age twenty-eight, I met my “shero.”
    Lisa Nichols

What She Said
    A successful person is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others throw at him/her.
    David Brinkley
    The words Mama flung at me on a summer day in 1978 stabbed me in so many places I figured I’d ache and bleed forever.
    â€œThis is what I get,” she said, “for working my fingers to the bone raising somebody else’s child. You wouldn’t have done this if your daddy was still alive.”
    I was stunned. Had I heard her right? “Whose child you raised?” I asked, puzzled.
    â€œYour daddy’s. You .”
    We were sitting outside, lapping up lemonade and sharing a pint of vanilla ice cream. That was the way we communicated in those days,