My Contrary Mother

Mom (L) in Atlantic City in the 50s

Last night, I went to see The Help.  I read the book several months ago and then borrowed it from the library for our sitter, who devoured it while Torin was napping over the course of a week or so.  Excellent book; amazing movie.  I'm a little disturbed that the author's brother's longtime family maid is claiming in court that Aibileen Clark is based on her life (the real maid's name is Ableen Cooper), but it doesn't ruin the vivid storytelling of this era in Mississippi in the '60s.  Read the story here.

My family is not from the Deep South, and we never had a family maid.  My parents both grew up in the urban setting of northern New Jersey, and living so close to the great metropolis of New York, I think they pretty much saw the world move a lot faster than it did anywhere else.  As I watched The Help, I thought about the time I almost took a job in Jackson, Mississippi, when I worked for SkyTel.  I interviewed with several nice people in the Jackson office, had fried chicken and collard greens for dinner, and watched as the city shut down at 5 PM.  I even looked at an apartment complex in Jackson and I said to myself, "I can't live here."  It just wasn't me.

The second story I thought about as I sat in the theater last night was one my mom told me years ago.  She was working as a secretary in a small company in New Jersey, and was friends with a young black man named Leonard.  She drove him home from work once or twice, literally on the other side of the tracks, and had lunch with him often.  One day, on their way back to the office from lunch, on the streets of East Orange, they decided to hold hands.  Just because it was 1960-something and they felt like causing a stir.  The reaction was "mostly stares and whispers".  They got a kick out of it.

Is there any wonder where I inherited my tendency to push the envelope a little?