I can’t recall how old I was. Maybe 10 or 12. Some of my siblings and friends had broken into a neighbour’s garage attic in order to explore. Clearly, we had no permission to be there. This neighbor called the police who ended up at our home one evening after dinner. We must have given my mom part of the story. There was a knock on the door. My mom told us to hide under the bed in our bedroom while she answered the police officer at the door, no doubt assuring him that she would speak to us sternly about this situation. We felt safe as chicks under the bed while my mother hen mom received the wrath that should have come to us.
My mom fell into all the traditional roles of an immigrant mom in the 50’s and 60’s as we were growing up. My dad fell into all his traditional roles of a male, but as I think of it now, my mom did not fully come into being the capable and confident person she might have been had there been a greater sense of mutuality in their marriage. My mom deferred to my dad and she could have taken on more meaningful leadership in their marriage than she did. Reflecting back, I feel sad about that.
I wish I could say that we have come a long way in 50 years, but in truth we have a long way to go, particularly we white males who fail to see our places of privilege. We need some serious humbling and learning, in order for things to be as they were intended in their original goodness.
She was always so sweet and so kind. She would be 95 if she were still alive. I miss her. How wonderful it would have been for her great grand children to have known her. My mom.