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FeaturesMay 9, 1998

Now you understand why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about or even talk real loud. When you see me passing by -- You ought to be proud. I say It's in the pride in my stance The bend of my hair The palms of my hands The need for my care...

Now you understand why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about or even talk real loud.

When you see me passing by -- You ought to be proud.

I say

It's in the pride in my stance

The bend of my hair

The palms of my hands

The need for my care.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally, phenomenal woman.

That's me.

-- From "Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou

The impending arrival of Mother's Day of course brings visions of many phenomenal women to my mind. My mom, my female relatives and the women of my past are all a part of who I am, and they deserve a thank you for their efforts on my behalf.

I've mentioned many of these women before in past columns, but there's an old song that says to give them their roses while they yet live. All I have is this public mouthpiece, but I think they can imagine the floral tributes I'm trying to inspire with my words.

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What I love about all of these women is their intelligence and their spirituality. They temper everything they do with love, a practice perhaps more of us should try.

First and foremost on my list of phenomenal women is my mother, Portia, one of the strongest and smartest women I've ever known. Mom's intent is never to embarrass, but to educate, even when a little embarrassment might be warranted. She's an excellent teacher, not only of higher math but also of life in general, and my sister and I are the byproducts of her efforts.

Mom and I aren't very much alike, at least not on the surface. We don't look alike, nor do we enjoy the same activities. However, we've got the same taste in clothing (and I appreciate every outfit she's ever given me) and entertainment, and when it comes to settling in the house on a Saturday for a long day of old westerns, nobody does it better than Mom and me.

Then there are her sisters, each of whom has touched me in some little way. Of special note are the ones who took the extra step to pull me aside and mold me a little more.

Tops on that list are Thelma, the wild, witty woman who has the hutzpah I can only hope to have someday. Thelma believes in making her own fun, saying whatever comes to mind without regret, and effortlessly slicing through the toughest skin and snottiest attitude. However, beneath that rough finish lies a heart of gold, a person who would give you whatever you needed if you'd only ask.

My mom and her sisters were shaped by Ma Dear, my wonderful, beautiful grandmother who hasn't let arthritis or old age get her down. Ma Dear still has a commanding presence and will "get you told" if you step out of line.

More importantly, Ma Dear is to this day a prayerful woman. She believes in God and wants others to trust in Him as she has over the years. She believes that if things are going wrong, you either aren't praying or you aren't paying attention to God's answers. It's that simple.

I agree with her, and I think there are any number of ancestors in my past who believed the same way. I may not know their names, but I believe my female forbearers were all spiritual women who believed in the power of prayer and hard work.

I like to think there were a group of these women who gathered together the day I was born and sat watching, just watching. Maybe they rocked a little from side to side, maybe they hummed an old tune. Then as one, they reached out and laid hands on my tiny body, and starting praying in unison.

When they finished praying, someone burst into a song, something joyous, as if they already knew the prayer had been answered.

I'm here and I'm happy, so maybe they had a right to sing that day. I hope wherever they are, the phenomenal women in my life are singing today and tomorrow and from then on. They have touched many people with their wonder, and they deserve only riches in life.

Unfortunately, I don't have riches or even extra to bestow on them. In fact, these are the only roses I have to give, but in my mind, there's a Garden of Eden blossoming in their honor.

Happy Mother's Day to all the phenomenal women in the world.

~Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.

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