All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
-William Shakespeare “All the World’s A Stage”
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/all-the-worlds-a-stage-by-william-shakespeare
She carefully walked my mother into the bathroom, taking care not to let her slip as she guided her into the tub. My mother sat quietly on the assisted seat and bowed her head down. After testing the water to see if it was warm enough, my oldest daughter Angie took the shower head down and gently placed it over her grandmother, letting her enjoy the warm water flowing over her body. As she began to massage the shampoo onto my mother’s hair, she started talking about what her plans were. My mother chuckled at my daughter’s silly anecdotes regarding her antics of prior days. Angie then proceeded to help my mother make sure she cleaned herself properly before rinsing her off. After drying her up and helping her dress, my daughter softly braided her hair and walked her to her favorite spot in the family room, where I had breakfast waiting for her.
When I was pregnant with Angie, my mother was the first person to know who she would be as she was with me at the ultrasound appointment. The image of her smiling, her eyes wet with happy tears while squeezing my hand with glee, was etched into my core memories. When she held my daughter for the first time, minutes after I gave birth to her, annoyed that she had to share her with my husband. I recall my daughter crying whenever my mother put her down, screaming to be held by her favorite human.
My mom gently placed her in the baby tub. Angie was maybe two to three weeks old and barely 8 pounds. She was so small but her voice was fierce, especially when she was hungry. My mom waited for me to finish breastfeeding her so Angie could enjoy her bathtime. My mom made sure the water was nice and warm as she gently covered Angie’s hair with water. She smiled at Angie’s sudden smile, stating she probably had gas. Bubbles swirled around Angie as my mom washed her, singing Haitian hymnals as she went. After, she gathered her up in a thick bath towel and dressed her for bed. I loved listening to my mother sing to Angie until she fell asleep. Another wonderful core memory.
I love how life has come full circle. I love that my beautiful mom, once a force to be reckoned with had finally allowed the children that she would give her life to protect, to become the very strength that carries her through the day. I love that the meals she once made for the child that I was, is now the meals I make for her. I never thought that I would be able to even come close to being the parent she was to me. I never thought that I would one day hold her hand and help her sit comfortably before putting on her favorite shows as she once did for me. I used to dread the day that I would see my mother like this but thinking about it now, I embrace every moment. I now get to show her all the love and support she provided to my childhood self and my child. I now get to shield her from life’s transgressions the same way she shielded me. All the World’s a Stage..and I love being a part of this wonderful play.
The Delaney Sisters’ journey can be described as nothing less than incredible. Follow along with our hosts as they unpack the story of two women who, despite the odds, became pioneers within their fields – overcoming the racist and sexist challenges encountered by African-American women of the time.
Mama's Time! 