Everyone stared at my mama. It wasn’t until I got older that I understood those looks. Old women crooked their eyebrows and young women held on to their man. And the men, all types, could not help but crane their necks to gawk or if they were classy, sneak a subtle glance. Mama remained blissfully ignorant. It was an immaturity I came to know that was laden with far more than her girlish attire.
