Finger-Lickin’-Good

Growing up in a small town, in the deep south, football was (and is) a central part of community life. Given a few valid exceptions virtually every young man is expected to play the sport, both to support his community, and to affirm his burgeoning manhood.

At Port Gibson High School the Blue Wave football team celebrated the close of each season with a banquet.

Coaches tend to call upon a core of trustworthy moms to help with the planning, preparations, and execution of these complex events. As you might guess, my own mom was one of those selfless, engaged parents who readily stepped to the plate whenever she was called upon—the quintessential “team mom.”

Following one sports banquet , my brother Oby boldly approached my mom and told her: “Mom! You embarrassed me! I don’t want you to serve at next year’s banquet!”

My mom was taken aback. Clueless, she responded “I’m sorry, Oby. What did I do?”

“While you were cutting the cake tonight, you licked your fingers. Yuck! You embarrassed me!” he answered.

At the following year’s banquet my mom dutifully complied with his request and politely declined the coaches’ invitation to help with the event.

Following the banquet, Oby returned home. Curious, my mom approached him. “Oby, how did the banquet go? How did the mom serving the cake do? Did she lick her fingers?”

With eyes opened wide, Oby replied. “No! Mom!—she licked the knife!”

And thus my mom was rightfully reinstated into her role as “team mom,” and Oby came to peaceful terms with the fact that “finger-lickin’” was indeed good!