Today is my birthday. Yawn. … But, no, actually.
I just got off the phone with my mother. That got me thinking. Sure, it’s my birthday. It is also my <em>mother</em>’s birthday, in the sense that she gave birth to me. She did most of the work that day. Birthdays are as much about mothers as children, if you think about it.
Mom is a hard as nails Wyoming cowgirl who became the 1st woman on the Minneapolis Police Department.
This is one of my favorite photos. This is her graduation from the police academy. They didn’t have uniforms for women.
In case there any Harris/Biden voters out there, my mother is the non-transgender woman in the center of the front row. (Sometimes they need a little help.)
Will you please, say a prayer for my mother? Mother of a priest.
I’ve heard stories from other cops about her and what she did that left my jaw dropped. And, hearing over the years of my youth, about fallen human nature in its worst and rawest, I have eyes open as few do in my collar.
A bonus was: I grew up surrounded by cops. God love them. May they be TRUE and blue.
(She isn’t all that tech savvy, so she probably won’t see this. If she did, she would be a little embarrassed but pleased. And I doubt she’d tell me! )