For the majority of my childhood and some parts of my adult life, I can’t think of a time that Mama couldn’t, or rather, wouldn’t, fix things for me. If someone crossed her Kitten, Mama was ready to go to battle and could go from a kind-hearted woman to full blown crazy redhead with lightening speed. Until, that is, Mama decided to teach me a lesson. I cannot even remember what it was, or what happened, but one day in my mid-20s, I ran to Mama, hoping she’d fix it, but I did not get her usual reaction. “I am so sorry that happened,” she said. I waited. Usually, she would ask for the offender’s name and contact information, so she could unleash her hellfire and brimstone. This time, she simply said, “I am so sorry.”