Dear Mama

My own mama says I’m thugged out. Wait, that was what 2pac’s mama said. My own mama told me to tone down my English on Facebook. People are telling her that I am being too vocal. She’s worried about my safety.

I am actually not being vocal on Facebook. I write for my website first. I just reshare them on Facebook. Sure, I sprinkle a bit of profanities here and there, but they are just part of my style. I am not spilling out any hateful rhetoric. I am not the one who declares Civil War if Biden loses. I am all for empathy, compassion, and unity. Still, I apologized for making my mama worried.

She asked me if I voted yet. I told her I voted a month ago. I asked her if she voted and she said no. She asked me who I voted for and I told her Biden. She said China has bribed Biden and I should have voted for the other guy. At this point, I was just speechless. All of my conversations with her about him all these years meant nothing to her.

If she wanted to vote for him based on her own choice, I would respect her decision. She told me I should have voted for him based on what other people were telling her. She chose to believe other people over her own son. That has always been the case all my life. She loves me unconditionally, but she never places her confidence in me. It didn’t matter what her own son said to her. She would take anyone else’s words over mine. I am not mad at her. In her heart and mind, I am still her little boy and her first instinct is to protect me. I get that; therefore, I still love her no matter what. Her heart is in the right place even though her mind will never change.

For better or for worse, I can’t wait for this to be all over. I have some serious relationships to reconnect. I really miss drinking with my mom. I used to cajole her into sharing an Olde E and chicken wings with me. I swear—the fried chicken wings from Queen’s Six Pack must have been marinated with crack. They are so damn addictive. I have to get a fix every time I go back to Lancaster. I miss those snow days when she made bánh xèo (crispy Vietnamese crepes) and I made cognac and coke. We drank slowly and ate bánh xèo until we were drunk and bloated. I miss the good olde days, mama. I love you, mama, and I will never let anyone come between us—definitely not that orange motherfucker. Sorry mama, I have to cuss.