My mom is in the center, surrounded by her friends Francis and Lou Etta

Thanks to a friend of a friend on Faceobook, I just realized my mom washed dishes in our school cafeteria for twenty-six years. By hand. I had no idea she was there so long. But, I do have some idea what kind of impact she made. For me, it was quite personal, of course. No matter what was happening in my world, I could tell her about it in the few minutes it took to stand outside her little window and scrape the remains of my lunch into the trash.

She was there the day I got kicked out of geography for swinging the wall map. (My one act of rebellion in an otherwise spotless career.) She was there the day we listened every hour to the lottery deciding which of our classmates would be sent to Viet Nam. She was there the day the vice-principle locked me in the teacher’s lounge to discuss what I knew about his alleged affair with the home-economics teacher. And, she didn’t stay in the kitchen that day! She stormed the hall, assaulted the door, and rescued me from the interrogation.

I’m sure my siblings could all tell similar stories. As could most of my friends and a couple of generations of students I never knew. Now, here is the thing: I’m pretty sure my mother never loved washing dishes. And, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t paid particularly well. But, I think I know why she scrubbed pots in the kitchen all those years.

She wanted to be at the window for us. And, I’m so glad she was.