It’s funny how one memory sticks with you your entire life, how it shapes your opinions and actions.
My moment in time was November 2, 1953.
As I sat on my mother’s bed watching her struggle with putting on her girdle, I noticed that this must be an important day. You see Mom never put on her girdle unless she was going to church or club. It was a Tuesday, so I knew church was not the destination today. I sat with my hands folded and tried not to wrinkle my Sunday clothes. My older siblings were at school, and I knew that today I would get all the attention from my mother. Sometimes that was good, and sometimes that was bad.
Mom carefully applied her bright red lipstick and pinned her pillbox hat on her freshly washed hair. She took one last look into the full-length mirror, smiled, and turned to face me. I knew what was coming next. This always occurred prior to any time I was leaving the house with her. It was the systematic run down as to what was acceptable behavior and what was NOT acceptable on my part. This was a necessary ritual because if they had labels for kids back then, I would have had a stream of letters describing my over-zealous approach to life. I always tried to listen but often would forget all the instructions. Somehow, I knew I’d better remember today.
Mother began her delivery with telling me that this was a very important day, and every American should feel privileged to be able to take part. She explained she felt it was important that I was a part of the day’s events, and she was excited to take me along. I was shocked. It was a rare occasion that my mother included me in her pastimes. I remember waving goodbye as she went off to Club, Grange, and church meetings. What could be so important that she felt I should be there?
She paused and began to spell out the rules.
Number 1. Don’t talk unless you are asked a question. If you have a question wait until we get into the car.
Okay. This would be a challenge. They didn’t call me Chatty Kathy for nothing, but somehow, I knew silence would be necessary today.
Number 2. Don’t touch anything.
I had always had a very tactile approach to life. My hands gave me a perspective of the world around me. Thank goodness I knew how to stick my hands into the pockets of my coat.
Number 3. Don’t peek through the curtains.
This was perplexing. We must be going somewhere there are lots of windows and interesting things to see outside that little girls aren’t suppose to see. I just loved hiding behind my grandma’s parlor curtains to stay concealed as she entertained guests. All was good until I got caught and banned from her sitting parlor.
Number 4. Don’t ask anyone what they did.
Okay. There was someone else going to be there. I loved talking with other people, hence the name Chatty Kathy. Was my mother expecting too much?
Mom grabbed her white gloves and patent leather purse and headed out the door. We climbed into our car and my mom’s face was adorned with a wide smile, but her eyes declared that this was an important mission. I could hardly wait until we got to our destination.
I didn’t have to wait long. The car came to a halt at the town hall. Mom scanned the crowded parking lot and found one of the last spots to be had. I jumped out of the car and mother gave me one last look that told me so much more than spoken words could have accomplished.
We entered the building, and I saw lots of our neighbors lined up to check in, just like Friday Night Bingo. I noticed the line split and smaller lines were formed in front of telephone booths with curtains. Rule 3 jumped into my mind, DON’T PEEK BEHIND THE CURTAINS. I could tell if a man or a woman was behind the curtain by their legs, but no other clues were to be had.
My mother approached our neighbor Millie and said her name. How strange. Millie should have known Mom. Millie gave my mother a slip of paper and motioned her forward. My mother’s decorum changed as she picked a line to stand in. Her face was solemn, and her head was held high.
When we got to the front of the line, she handed a man the slip of paper. We approached the telephone booth structure, and the curtains parted. Out stepped a man who politely smiled and tipped his hat at my mom and me. My mother grabbed my hand and proceeded into the booth. I noticed that there was no telephone but instead, a contraption with lots of levers.
Under my breath I repeatedly chanted Rule Number 2. DON’T TOUCH, DON’T TOUCH
I jumped straight up when the curtain slapped shut behind us. My mom proceeded to systematically pull down levers. With each lever, her lips became more straight-lined and the furrows between her brows deepened. She grabbed the large lever on the right and slapped it down with a pronounced thud. I bit my tongue so all those questions fighting to get out of my mouth would not escape.
The curtain snapped open, and we were free to leave. My mother walked proudly towards the door, smiling and nodding at all she met.
As we settled down in the front seat of the car, I literally exploded with a barrage of questions. Mom simply smiled and said the following in not so many words. She had just voted in an election. She used words like election, amendment, privilege, honor, voice, and civic duty. She pointed out that “how a person voted was between themselves and their God and no one has the right to ask how they voted.” There’s Rule 4. As my eyes glazed over, she knew I had reached my limit and she told me that someday I would understand.
Flash forward thirteen years to the next time I entered a voting booth. My mother accompanied me that day and I could tell she was remembering the day she had me witness her voting. The importance and significance did not escape me.
Here’s The Thing: This past week millions of people exercised their right to vote. Mom would have been proud. I didn’t talk. I only touched what I needed to. There were no curtains to peak through. AND I didn’t ask anyone how they voted. I just smiled and held my head high and said under my breath, “I get it Mom.”
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Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of articles and opinions written by a group of retired and current teachers — Ken Ballinger, Billy Kreigh, Kathy Schwartz, and Anna Spalding. Their intent is to spur discussions at the dinner table and elsewhere. You may also voice your thoughts and reactions via The News-Banner’s letters to editor.
