Mother’s Day Remembrance of One Who Cut a Path

The following piece originally was posted June 15, 2013, on my first blog “If You Knew the Voices in My Head.”  With the discovery of old photographs (and the nostalgia that accompanies such a discovery) and my youngest daughter a year away from joining my oldest daughter as a college graduate, I thought it time to revisit the piece.

A Car Ride From the Airport and Small Talk

On the way home from the airport my college-age daughter and I discussed the now completed spring semester of her freshman year. It had gone well. She continued to make new friends, took interesting classes, experienced all she could experience in the diverse environment of a well-regarded university. She took a classical course load where her understanding and appreciation of society was stretched as her academic skills were enhanced.

The conversation was the small talk of car rides that follow a day of getting to, through and around airports from one end of the country to the other. How was the semester? How were finals? How was the flight? Mind bending stuff. And during our conversation we found ourselves discussing the past spring break when she enjoyed much-desired sun in the backyard while reading two books addressing distinct schools of thought. One book on feminism and one book on cultural conservatism. Truly mind bending.

Politics aside it was encouraging to hear she was exploring various views. And during our car-ride conversation she said she had come to realize just how far women have progressed in the past 100 years. How past generations fought for the right to vote. How past generations fought for equal participation in society. Yet the changes are subtle when viewed as single efforts yet significant when viewed collectively. It’s a shame we today don’t readily discuss these efforts with our young women in any place other than the classroom.

With Mother’s Day just days away, the car-ride conversation conjured memories of my mother. Gone now for almost 30 years it’s easy to look back at the known bits of her life and determine it was a solid run until cancer cut it short. But as with the progress of women, my mother’s life if analyzed in bits is subtle but when analyzed as a whole is a snapshot of the determination of women who gave my daughters – her granddaughters – a place at the head table. Intended or unintended, inspired or by chance, my mother cut a path. Perhaps not a wide path but a path nonetheless.

Orphaned, Picking Cotton, the Great Depression

She was born between the world wars and lost her father at 4 years and her mother at 11. Taken in by an older sister while her brothers built roads for the Civilian Conservation Corps – one of Franklin Roosevelt’s public work relief programs – she was a little girl who learned of hard work in the fields of East Texas, picking cotton to ensure food and shelter. I walked a cotton field as an adult and returned that evening to my hotel, not beaten down from a day of harvesting but reasonably all-together from a day of crop inspection. As I had a cold beer, hot meal and boot-shine awaiting, I cannot imagine a little girl picking cotton, truly back-breaking labor, but then those were the ways of the Great Depression.

Eventually she became the first in her family to graduate high school as the United States entered World War II. She moved to Houston and found work, not quite Rosie the Riveter, but work that paid the bills. She married a sailor but the marriage was short-lived and ended in divorce. After the war she landed a job as traffic coordinator for KTHT radio. It was the same station fans tuned in daily to catch broadcasts of the then minor-league Houston Buffs baseball team. And the same station that many years later inspired a memorable boyhood moment.

When I was 10 years old I visited the Astrodome for a Sunday game. Before the Astros – now a major league team – took the field guys like Jimmy Wynn, Doug Rader and Jesus Alou signed autographs beyond the right-field wall. The voice of the Astros radio broadcasts stood to the side. A Houston legend in his own right Loel Passe used his Alabama drawl to draw a picture, especially for children who stayed up late in blanketed secrecy. We had the great fortune of his voice, one that put us in front-row seats, first-base side. He previously broadcast the Buffs games for KTHT.

On this particular Sunday I found the courage to introduce myself. Told him of my mother and he roared with delight, “How the heck is Burnie?” Only a true colleague would know her nickname as she didn’t particularly like it and only a rare few were allowed to use it. I got my autographs that day and it remains special, but not for meeting my on-field heroes. It was the day I learned my mother kept company with legends, sharing a seat side-by-side at the table.

Embracing New Attitudes About Women

The short story is my mother met my father in an elevator in 1949. She had great legs. And he had charm. They got married. A fast forward through the 50s tells the tale of how my mother left the radio station and became a homemaker, my father served in Korea, there were efforts to have children and the anguish of five miscarriages. Doctors discovered the problem and she had me at 35 years followed shortly by another child. And she remained at home but grew restless.

She found life as a homemaker too simple. With modern appliances, a farm girl’s no-nonsense approach to chores and children at school she couldn’t find enough to keep busy. Neighborhood gatherings, such as garden club, didn’t satisfy – too much rumor and pettiness. Tupperware parties were much the same. Anything she had to say about my father she’d just as soon tell him face-to-face. While she genuinely liked the other ladies, she didn’t like to spend too much time with them.

So she took volunteer positions at our public elementary school and together with my father became co-presidents of the PTA. She helped lead our school through desegregation – it was the South and the late 60s – and afterward took a job at a department store, turning a part-time position into full-time. And while the majority of mothers remained at home, my mother enjoyed the status of employment, her own paycheck, her own daily accomplishments.

Other telling moments followed – the first time she, as a woman, obtained credit without a co-signer, her first purchase of an automobile, reminders to my father she had shoes on her feet before she met him and would have shoes on her feet after he was gone. But one moment stood out. While I was college, my father joined the dads association. She thought the name of the group odd. Didn’t mothers play a role in the preparation of college students? Weren’t mothers more likely to listen to the cries of homesickness? So she applied and became the first female member of the association. The organization now is called the Texas Tech Parents Association.

A Dream Lost, A Path Blazed for Future Generations

At this time she knew she was sick. And though she battled she eventually found herself at a crossroads. Not ready to admit the cause might be lost, she pulled me aside during a holiday break. As I was anticipating a summer graduation, she wanted to know my plans. Was I thinking about graduate school? Would I consider a local college? And could she join me on the ride to and from school? Shy of her 60th year, my mother wanted to pursue a bachelor’s degree in computer science. She died in the spring.

My mother simply would have perceived her life a life pursued. No politics. No agenda. She for the most part live life within the framework of her time. No doubt she stretched the framework, but her efforts were the reaction of one with a hunger for acceptance and accomplishment. She saw what the men in her life were allowed to pursue and simply ignored the limitations society placed on her and other women of her generation.

Her legacy is the discussion of her efforts. And these efforts – and those of her predecessors and contemporaries – should give our young women a greater appreciation of their own accomplishments. How far women in America have come. My mother made choices. And they were her choices based on her ambition and understanding of fairness. At no time did I ever feel neglected. She never was less as a mother. I’ve always believed she was more so.

My mother set an example, not only for her children, and young women, but also for anyone who has dreams. Her example makes it possible for today’s young women to accomplish and to lead. So they might turn their dreams into reality.

Copyright (c) 2013 by Jeffrey Rembert. All Rights Reserved.