I was at the symphony with my dad on Saturday night. We were talking about how he and my mom had met. She had been teaching Home Economics at a high school just outside of Chicago. He was working for a company outside of Chicago as well. But they had both lived in the Near North and had met as members of the local ski club.
As we talked about this, my dad began to chronicle things- the year he had moved, the year they had met, the year she had resigned from her position at the high school...
"Wait," I asked. "She resigned from her position at the high school? Do you know why she resigned?"
"I don't recall," he said. "But that's when she started working for the National Meat Board."
Now, I have to tell you that this 'National Meat Board' snippet of my mother's life has always baffled me. I have known that my mother worked for the National Meat Board because I've heard it mentioned by my father several times. However, I have never understood it. I know my mother majored in Home Economics in college. I know my mother taught Home Economics in high school. I know that, at one point, my mom consulted with that Joe Ingargiola guy- the Green Grocer. And I know that at one point, she got married, stopped working, and had the three of us.
The high school Home Ec. teacher makes sense and the Green Grocer thing follows mostly- maybe her background in Home Economics gave her enough expertise to consult with Joe about nutritious green groceries. But the National Meat Board? All I can picture is my mom, in a white lab coat, walking around some meat packing plant, with dead cows hanging from the ceiling. How in the world does that fit with a degree in Home Economics and a teaching certificate? So I finally asked my dad, "That whole National Meat Board thing has always confused me! What was that all about?"
"Well," he explained. "She wrote for them. I can't recall exactly what she wrote for them but that's what she did for them, she wrote."
"But, I mean," I continued, "Was it just some job she came across that paid well or was she actively pursuing it?"
"Well," he said, "I'm sure there were a lot of writing jobs out there and this was the one she got."
"Wait," I said. "So she was pursuing this as a writing position?" I asked.
And then the bell rang, reminding us that intermission was over and we needed to get back inside for part two of the symphony.
"Yes," he said.
"So Mommy considered herself a writer?" I asked. "She was pursuing a writing career?" I asked for confirmation.
"Your mother very much considered herself a writer," my dad explained. "She and her friend wrote for the school newsletter.... what was it called?" and then we were in our seats, and the symphony started and so that was the end of the conversation.
But it wasn't the end of my thinking.
I revisited our conversation.
Basically, I had just learned that:
my mother had been a teacher:
Check! (it's what I've been doing since I was 25)
My mother had left teaching
Check! (it's what I did, twice, once when I was 28 to get my masters, and again when I was 33, to figure out who I was)
My mother had pursued writing as a career
Check! (it's one of the things I did when I was 33 and, it's exactly what I'm doing now- though I'm not leaving teaching to do it)
What?!
And then I followed her time line.
She worked for the National Meat board until she got pregnant with my sister- and they moved to Cleveland- oy vey!
Apparently, if my trajectory follows hers, I'm on my way to getting married, pregnant, and moving to the West Coast's version of Cleveland: Colma.
Nope, not going to happen, but still. I can't believe it. She saw herself as a writer! She actually left teaching to become a writer (I don't actually know that she left teaching in order to be a writer but she was apparently pursuing writing as a career). And I'm writing, now. Not so much as a career, but I'm beginning to see myself as a writer.
This is weird, but nice. Not the Colma thing, but the leaving teaching, seeing yourself as a writer, knowing that she wanted to do that too. A little sad, that we didn't get to share that. A little delusional. that maybe I'm living out her aspirations but mostly happy- that she and I both wrote,, that we both were women who pursued writing.
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