UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR

There is more than enough news recently about sexual harassment in the workplace.   Sexual harassment is when you are expected to endure or perform some type of sexual behavior to gain a higher position, more money, or simply to continue an association with some jerk who thinks he can get away with it.  I find it difficult to imagine tolerating harassment as an adult who can make a choice to walk away from the situation.  Anything a person can’t walk away from such as sexual, psychological or physical abuse is another whole subject.   

It simply isn’t ok for anyone to use their position of “importance” to entice someone to be part of behavior that they are not comfortable with. There are also instances where walking away might remove you from the immediate situation, but can place you in an uncomfortable situation.    You could ruin the reputation and cause extreme heartache for an unsuspecting family or friend or both.  Public figures are at a great risk for this very reason.  Remember the “swinger” web site scandal?  Ouch. 

In small towns, everyone knows everyone.  You sit next to them in church.  You are class with them.  You are in class with their children.  You may babysit for them.  You might sing in the church choir or go to parties with them and you wave at them on the street passing by.  You’ve known these people all your life and you trust them because they are like family.

When I was in high school, I took a class called Vocational Office Training.  Part of the class included working in a business at a nominal wage for a short time to gain some experience in a work place setting.  I was at my desk typing one day and my employer, touched me inappropriately.  He said nothing.  I said nothing.  I immediately covered my typewriter, got my school books and purse, and left to walk home.  He followed me in his car almost all the way home calling to me to let him give me a ride.  All I could think of was that if I told my folks, my Dad would be out for a showdown and it wouldn’t be pretty.  Embarrassment would surely follow as this was a member of my church with a fine family.  I couldn’t think straight.  I just kept walking.  The next day, I knew I had to let my teacher know, since she would have to make the arrangements for another place for me to work because I had no intention of going back to that office.  I told her in confidence and asked her to never place another student in that business again and to please not betray my confidence.  I never told my Daddy.  I didn’t tell my Mother until the man had passed away and I had grown children of my own. 

I don’t tell this story to accuse someone who waits years and years before coming forward with their accusations.  I make no excuses for allowing a grown man with children get away with what he did to me. In my opinion at the time, the consequences would have hurt too many people who were innocent and, thankfully I wasn’t hurt physically.   I tell this simply to say that sometimes we don’t know the right thing to do or say.  We stay silent because it’s the least complicated way to handle a situation.   Sexually abused young children may simply not want to cause a fight at home or experience punishment.  They may have been abused by the most trusted member of their family and they are so confused about love that they allow themselves to believe it is ok and that’s a way of showing love to them.   Some of them live the rest of their lives trying to sort out the wrongness of it all, sometimes blaming themselves and feeling they deserved to be treated that way.   Sexual, physical and psychological abuse is more prevalent than most people know.

Currently, it seems that the more prominent, more powerful, more visible people who should have our respect because of their accomplishments and positions, have dirtied not only their own families and friends who supported them, but our nation.   When our President can face the nation, and lie, be proven guilty, and even impeached but remain in the highest position in the land as if it were a minor school yard offense, surely, we must know there’s trouble on the horizon.     Our society has become so complacent that we just listen intently to the news and then wait gleefully for the next scandal to break.      It’s just a matter of time.

MEMORIES - Reflections of My Life

Recently, I have been doing a lot of family research for membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution.  I don’t know why, at my age, suddenly it has become a mission other than the fact that I never knew I would remotely qualify for admission.  So, after finding out my gggg grandfather had served in the Revolutionary War, I set out to become a member of what my impression had deemed a coveted and special “club”.  It is still special, but I have a greater understanding of the requirements.   Not as easy as it sounds.  I may never reach my goal due to strict guidelines of proving lineage.  I’m almost there, but not there yet.

That’s not the focus of this story, however.  While reading everything I can get my hands on that may give me any history of my heritage and pedigree, I have read and re-read my Mom’s special log book “Memories – Reflections of My Life” looking for clues.  What I really want to tell you about it is how precious it is to look at her entries and in my mind’s eye, be that chubby little round faced girl who grew up to become that amazing woman that I called Momma.  I can visualize so clearly her wide brown eyes and little fingers as she tiptoes to reach the piano keys.  I can see her playing around in the dirt at Big Daddy’s shop with her hammer he “loaned” her to make her table from scrap wood.  I imagine the excitement of the little ones getting a “sack” when Big Daddy came home from the store and always remembered to bring them some stick candy.  And the time when they took a trip to see her brother in the Model T ford which had to be cranked by hand and they tried to cross the river when it was swollen with flood water from a storm.   And as she grows older, I can imagine how she swooned over my Daddy when she first saw him and was asked out on a date with him when all the girls were asking “who’s the new good looking boy in town”?

The family of Tom and Nona Scott never had much in terms of material things.  They worked hard raising seven boys and three girls in the country near Dellwood, Georgia.    According to Momma’s memories, her father was a tall, sturdy and good looking man, quite muscular and emotionally stable.  He was a happy family man, not so well off financially, but always worked hard and made a living for them all.  He wasn’t a social man much, but had many, many friends that loved and respected him.  He was a blacksmith.  Something we don’t know too much about today, but had his own shop where he worked every day repairing wagons wheels and buggies, and shoeing horses.  Mother would play with the little scrap pieces of spokes from the wheels and make her a little table using the spokes for the legs.  He never used profanity, spoke well, and taught the children never to use slang words.  He was beyond reproach as a father and husband.

Nona, my Grandmother, was everything a Mother should be.  Her home and children were central to her life.  She was a happy person, singing hymns while cooking, sewing, and cleaning.  She was content with what she had, although she never acquired many worldly goods.  Her outlook on life was one that never dwelt on gloom.  With just a meager education, she managed to teach her children good grammar and didn’t accept anything less.  She loved pretty things, and though nothing she ever owned could have been very expensive, she was a stickler for neatness. 

Attendance to church was mandatory to the family and family prayer was held each night as they knelt around the fire.     Of the people who my Momma admired the most in her life, she says “First and foremost, as a child, I most admired my Mother and Father.  They were the greatest two people on earth because they taught us all the right things to say and do and to become.   They were special people!

Reading Momma’s memories of her first day of school, her Christmas seasons, her first date, her marriage, and people who most influenced her in life is like having a sweet conversation with her.  It hasn’t given me the information that I seek, but I keep reading through my tears, as I remember who I am, who she was, who her Mother and Father were and how my life was shaped forever by those who loved me and sacrificed for me.