My Mom passed away a number of years ago, but I’ve been thinking about her a lot this Mother’s Day.
I was adopted by Tom and Evelyn Green in 1956, when I was only a few months old. Three years later, we adopted my sister. We had a wonderful childhood – attributable to both of our parents.
My Dad’s ancestors were all from the British Islands, buy my Mom’s were all 100 percent German. Dad used to joke about her, “You can always tell a German, but you can’t tell them much.” It fit her to a tee. She was opinionated, outspoken, and stubborn. In fact, her stubbornness was her superpower. Luckily for the world, she used it for good and not evil.
In the 1960s Mom supported the civil rights movement and was a huge follower of Martin Luther King Jr. I can’t tell you how many times my sister and I got lectures on the color of skin vs. the content of character. It shaped both of our values. She cried when MLK was killed. To this day my sister refuses to reference anyone by hyphenated citizenship. In her eyes, you’re either American or not – you don’t get an ethnic qualifier. Our mother would approve.
Mom supported the civil rights movement because it was the direction her moral compass pointed. Discrimination based on skin color, religion, or ancestral place of origin is wrong. She was determined to make sure we knew it – as well as anyone else unfortunate enough to cross her path while making an insensitive utterance.
While we were at school practicing “duck and cover,” Mom was at home writing letters to our political leadership, pleading for them to pursue nuclear disarmament. She considered it unconscionable that we were learning how to survive an atom blast in the 2nd grade – assuming the blast wasn’t too close. But we lived near a Strategic Air Command base – so good luck with that.
Children of the 21st century think such training sounds silly. But we had just experienced the Cuban missile crisis. Mom put us to bed every night knowing that a high-temperature nuclear ending to our happy family was a very real possibility.
But Mom was no pacifist – in spite of being a Quaker. She taught us that violence is never the right answer, until it’s the only answer. Violence was something to be avoided, until words were not enough to defend ourselves or other innocents. In compliance with that teaching, I avoided the school bully, until violence became necessary in the 6th grade.
The bully and his “crew” decided it was time to fight. They blocked me from boarding the school bus. The driver looked at me, closed the door, and drove away. Words weren’t working, so the fight was on. Luckily this was the 6th grade, and the fight was mostly pushing and wrestling, with little real injury. When the fight was over, I saw half a dozen teachers standing nearby – some even cheering the fight on. I walked to a nearby gas station and called my mom to pick me up.
The next morning at school I was summoned to the principal’s office. This can’t be good. When I got there, my mother was already in the principal’s office. Nope, not good at all. But the conversation didn’t go the way I was expecting it to.
Mom asked why the bus driver drove off knowing I was trying to get to the bus – check. The principal informed her that it’s not the driver’s job to stop fights. In addition, I would be receiving a disciplinary warning for fighting on school property – counter move. Mom said she understood, and that I should be held accountable – tactical retreat. Then she went in for the kill. She asked why the teachers were treating the fight like a sporting event – checkmate.
Mom then looked over to me and suggested that I return to class while she and the principle discussed the matter. My mom was 5 foot 2. The principle was well over 6 feet tall, but he looked awfully small as I left the office.
I have no idea what direction their conversation took. Mom never told me. But I do know that for the rest of the year, teachers supervised the loading of busses, and drivers didn’t leave until they had taken a head count.
That was my mom. She could be maddeningly stubborn. She was opinionated to everyone’s annoyance, and was always ready to debate. Okay, it was usually arguing. She was fiercely protective of the innocent and determined to do the right thing – as she saw it. She was a small woman, with a big personality, and a giant heart.
Author Bio: John Green is a political refugee from Minnesota, now residing in Idaho. He has written for American Thinker, and American Free News Network. He can be followed on Facebook or reached at greenjeg@gmail.com.
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