Night School ... reflections on The Help

This little memory has been floating in my mind and heart for many, many years. Reading Kathryn Stockett's The Help crystallized the importance of this one experience. More importantly, the five minute episode at age 6 gave me not only a lesson itself, but affirmed the power of a mother’s example. I believe that it shaped who I am as a mother. Like Skeeter in The Help, my mother put principle above popularity and propriety.

The setting: summer 1961. A rambling lakeside house in Alabama. Our family was spending the week with several other families, all lifelong friends of my mom. I'd been put to bed just off the main room where the adults were socializing.

Sleep wouldn’t come that sultry July night. Tossing and turning, I was spooked by an unfamiliar bed and shadowy room. Though my four-year-old brother slept beside me and my parents were just steps away, I felt scared and alone in the creaky house. 

A cacophony of night noises mingled with those of the grown-ups as they laughed over a game of cards. Iced drinks clinked. Voices rose and fell. Then rose again. Sleep creeping ever closer, I was jerked awake by urgent conversation.

“They have their place. We have ours.” The voice of mom's childhood friend.

“I disagree.” Mom’s voice was strong and resolute, but completely alone. “God created everyone in His image, and everyone is of equal value, no matter his skin color.”

“Come on, you can't believe that,” replied the friend.

“I am right, absolutely,” mom answered. Then awkward silence.

With 50 years of hindsight, we can easily minimize the magnitude of civil rights issues. But my mother grew up in the deep South of the 1930’s and 40’s, when racial segregation and prejudice were as normal as lack of air conditioning: it was all she’d ever known. To sever her mind and heart from her upbringing and stand alone in her convictions was radical. Speaking up in a roomful of lifelong friends had to have taken immense courage.

I strained through the darkness and heard my mother sobbing softly. Though surrounded by friends and husband, she was utterly alone. I wanted to leap from the tangled sheets and dash to her, stroke her smooth face and take refuge in her soft, familiar shoulder. I needed her arms around me, but especially wanted my arms around her. How I grieved with her.

The conversation ceased. I licked my lips and didn't move. No other memories of that night remain.

Beyond my little world, 1961 saw a turbulent summer. "Freedom riders" were testing the laws prohibiting segregation of interstate travel facilities across the South. Many of these groups, comprised of student volunteers of both races, were attacked by angry mobs. Certainly this news event initiated the conversation in which my mother found herself.

Changes in the world can happen through big events like freedom rides. Or Rosa Parks's silent statement on a city bus. Or the march on Washington. Or the influence of Ghandi or Mother Teresa.

But they also happen in the tender heart of a little girl who adopts courage from her mother's voice on a summer night in Alabama.