MOTHERS ARE MAGICAL -
BSC, CA – Our featured picture would not be here except for my mom, my magical mother. I have been involved with the civil rights economic boycott of the downtown stores to open their lunch counter to blacks, called Negros, in those days. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had come to town earlier that year, see page 64, Memoirs of Mr. Pete & Mary Jane Green.
The Easter boycott named Nothing New For Easter [button motto] shut down a main conduit of revenue to Louisville's white merchants because 'black folks' love to sport their stuff at Easter. Hundreds were arrested in the months we protested. All my friends were, many more than once. My family never got wise until one day six weeks into the daily protests, there was a photo-opted National pic showing staged black protestors because the real protestors were all high school students [the real news], I never missed a protest, and I never got arrested or photographed once. At this time I did not know that one day I would be a wizard.
Though there was a dust-up the day my family found out, the moment passed, thanks to my grandfather, and my protest attendance and unblemished police record stayed that way. No one seemed to notice but I told my mother about it because it was 'very lucky' to me, and we were buds, she being 19 when she bore me. At the start of the summer another protest issue came up; integrating the local amusement park, our wonder warf, Fountain Ferry Park. I got the call and got ready to go over on my bike. My mom asked, I told her, and she gave me her blessing. The picture above resulted. Where am I?
I have 3 sons. My writing and reporting here at this web site is my way of having the 3 of them out in the garage on Saturday morning after cartoons, a sesh of sorts. Since that's not likely to happen as it hasn't in almost 73 years, this is my passing on an imprint legacy in hopes of explaining why they see things the way they do. However, on this special day, it has to be noted that each of their moms was special, or they wouldn't be here.
Mom #1 is a practical mom, religious in that strange Catholic way. Our romance started with a kiss in Iroquois Park. Son #1 is the Only son of Mom #1 who is a PhD now and who both live in the same town.
Mom #2 is a unicorn inside a person suit. Again, before I knew my magical side, I uttered the reverse spell of saying 'don't fall in love with me' after she kissed me on the dance floor. She is a romantic. My mom was a romantic hence the attraction. Son #2 is the First Son because she had been told unicorns can't reproduce. Son #2 made Mom #2's dream come true, to be a mom.
Mom #3 is a good witch from the branch of Douglass. They are descendants of Little John, the guy who taught Robin Hood how to fight with a staff. There is a strong sense of natural nature to her you can sense. A natural mother, Mom #3 finished raising a wizard before giving birth to Son #3, a new wizard. All the things I thought strange, I now accept to be true, thanks to Mom #3's family life.
The last two Moms are also special in their own ways and style.
The first of these Moms is a conglomerate Mom. I met this Mom through Occupy LA, a flashpoint for those on the vanguard. If ever there was a Spirit of the Hollywood version of their Wonder Woman, the individual Moms of Moms Across America, past and present members, incorporate that through their determination to not bow down when their children are at stake. Like other groups around the world fighting multi-national giant companies like Unilever and others, these women don't just stand on corners holding banners. These moms educate and mobilize; trends show their actions are bearing fruit for families everywhere.
|'GMOs? We're Not Buying It!' printed on Anvil Organic cotton|
And last but not least, this list can't end without bearing a Mom who made me laugh, and once cry as I watched her live on Ed Sullivan's when she sang Abraham, Martin, and John, shortly after Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated. She was tamer than Redd Foxx and salted her pepper with homespun wisdom and jokes bout those who could illustrate her points. These were thinking jokes because it took a second to catch the punch line, usually. Though her delivery was definitely ethnic, it wasn't ghetto. Now enjoying a resurgence of sorts through YouTube, I can only mean Moms Mabley, the 'Moms' of my generation.
Where am I?
The last in line, as is my place among the Rothschilds. Opening and closing photo from ISBN 978-1-935497-36-3.