A Mother's Day Tribute to Strong Women

Strong women raised me.

They taught me to be independent, to think for myself. They taught me to read books, newspapers and magazines other than Cosmo and Woman's Day. They expected me to be a professional, to have a career.

I'm not sure I appreciated all they did for me until my middle age. I certainly didn't tell them how thankful I was for my upbringing. Now, only one of them is left. This is for her. And for those who are gone. And for the person who brought us together.
My mom grew up a Southern Baptist on a farm in middle Tennessee, the only one of four children to graduate from high school. She lit off to Nashville, attending the sort of "business school" women went to in the 1940s and '50s, then she took a job at General Shoe Co. as a keypunch operator. She wore beautiful clothes, bought a nice car, and sometimes alluded to the fun city social life she led.

She met and married my dad, and a year later, when she was 34, I was born. A month after that, they moved to Iowa, to dad's family farm. Mom spent much of her spare time reading, and took us to the library to check out books. She joined the Methodist Church in our small town, and our family attended Sunday school and church every week.

Mother's Day on Woman UP:

- Mother's Day: A Texas Magnolia Who Finally Faded
- A Mother's Day Thought for Childless Mothers
- On Mother's Day: Pick Up the Phone!
- Thelma and Louise Equal Mom and Me
- Mixing Mother's Day With Marijuana
- Mother's Day? No, Try Goddess Day

My mom was political. One of my early memories is of accompanying her and dad to the county Democratic headquarters to volunteer one Saturday in 1964. In first grade, at an age of loving rhymes, I thought the "All the way with LBJ" buttons were wonderful. The list of Nestle products to boycott because of the company's promotion of baby formula to new mothers in Third World countries is still on the fridge -- and it's probably been there for more than 30 years.

Mom didn't talk a lot about her politics outside our family, though if someone else brought it up, she was quick to state and defend her point of view. When our neighbor trashed Geraldine Ferraro in 1984, she made sure he could see the Mondale-Ferraro yard sign from his window. When the election was over, she put the sign in a basement window, facing his house (I'm pretty sure it's still there.)

On her last visit to me before dying of cancer in 1997, mom wanted to know if the newspaper where I worked used recycled paper and soy ink in the printing process. The implication was that, if not, I should find a more environmentally friendly employer.

Raised in the same county as the Gore family, mom was a huge Al Gore Jr. fan, supporting him in his original presidential bid in 1988. I still have her Clinton-Gore wristwatch. Had she been around for the 2000 election and subsequent outcome, well, wherever she was, I know she wasn't happy!

My paternal grandmother earned an education degree from the University of Iowa in 1925, then moved to New York. She married, worked at a department store, but soon divorced and returned to Iowa to operate her ailing father's lumberyard. She married my grandfather after the death of his first wife to pancreatic cancer, adopting my dad and his two older sisters.

My grandmother emphasized proper behavior of the "children should be seen but not heard" variety. We learned where to set the silver on the table (and how to polish it), how to hold it, and how to ask to be excused from the table.

Part of the etiquette involved avoiding controversial conversation. We were told she was a Republican, so we didn't talk politics with my grandparents when they visited the farm -- or when we socialized with others about whose beliefs we were uncertain. If someone else brought up politics, we were to proceed with caution. (OK, I didn't always follow this advice, like the time in 1972 when I argued with a classmate in ninth-grade study hall about Watergate as a reason not to support Nixon.)

My grandmother told me to learn to type, because I'd always be employable -- and it certainly has come in handy, perhaps in different ways than she expected. She encouraged me to go to college, and even paid some of my fees the first couple of quarters.

In her later years, it was fun to visit with her in her Tucson home, share a cocktail, talk about books, travel and, well, politics, not so much.

My Aunt Anne exemplified the career-focused woman. She took off for graduate school at the University of Arizona, leaving her parents in our small Iowa farm town to inform her fiance that the engagement was, um, off. She never married (and once was listed as a "spinster" in our high school alumni guide, which she'd bring up with a laugh), but her life has always seemed incredibly glamourous to me.

After getting her master's degree in math, she moved to California to teach. After brief stints in L.A. and Berkeley, she ended up at Foothill College in Los Altos. She worked with a group to encourage girls to excel in math. And she encouraged me too, sending me a calculus comic book and other fun stuff.

She traveled the world on her sabbaticals, sending me great gifts. In 1975, she sent me a wonderful gold dove pin with an equal sign and the women's symbol on it -- the logo of the U.N.'s International Women's Year. I still wear that pin.

When I visited on my college spring break in 1977, I tagged along with her for a day. At one point we ended up in a computer lab, where she was running programs for a class. That was the first computer lab I ever visited, but certainly not the last. Seeing someone use computers and math skills looked like fun -- and it still is, for me.

Long a classic Republican -- as in, fiscally conservative and otherwise moderate -- in recent years, my aunt became an independent voter. And maybe her companion -- a widower and former teaching colleague -- has a bit to do with that.

My aunt is still one of my favorite friends. When we chat, we talk a lot about teaching. She has great advice -- and, for sure, more patience than I.

Finally, there's the person who brought these three women -- and me -- together. Mother's Day is often his special day, too.

Thanks, Dad, and happy birthday.

In the photo, front from left to right: mom, Aunt Anne, my grandmom; in the back: my dad, Aunt Jane and my granddad.