For the life of me, I was the son who has told his mother in recent years, “I’m old enough for you not tell me how to do that,” or “I’m too old for you to mother.”

I’m also the son who was told the following by his mother, “I am still your mother, no matter how big, or how old you get.”

Yes, ma’am.

Some of you may know that I had a brief stay in a hospital earlier this week. It was unexpected, definitely unwanted and very “unfun.” It was for a condition I’ve battled for years and a flare up came along and bit me on the proverbial rear-end.

But, as I was about to drive to the doctor’s appointment — an appointment that would end with me admitted to the hospital — it was my mother and father who volunteered to drive me.

The drive was a few hours from Selma and, honestly, it was nice to have someone else drive the distance while I remained in a little discomfort. After being admitted though, the mothering began. It was expected, very much appreciated, but a little disconcerting for a man of my age.

My mother, with my father sitting often times quietly in the other chair in the hospital room, would ask me if the temperature of the room was OK, or if my pillow and blankets were fine.

“I’m fine, mom. Thanks,” I found myself saying a lot.

But as it became apparent my stay in the hospital was going to move from one day to more, there was then a trip she made to the store to pick up toiletry items, socks and, yes, underwear.

Having your mother purchase your underwear when they are still printed with images of Spiderman and Superman on them is fine; at 36, well that becomes a little bit of an issue. Now that I am feeling much better, back at home and work, I am sure I do not want a return visit to the hospital, but if I do, there’s one thing for certain; I definitely want my mother back at my side.

Thanks, mom and happy Mother’s Day.