Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • My mom wasn't a pushover. She didn't look the other way when we tried to get away with something. She was strict about curfew. She was serious about following the rules. She was the kind of mom that called other moms to make sure someone was home when I told her I'd be at a friend's house for the night.

    She even started something called a "Parent Support Group" when I was in 7th grade, organizing all of the parents and getting them together regularly so that communication lines would be open and, together, they could discuss what was going on with their kids.

    UGH. I was appalled by this. And I knew my friends would be too. I begged my mom not to do it. I told her that all of the kids in the school would hate me, and hate her too.

    But, my mom also worked at the school we went to, in the main office, where every kid went if they lost something, if they had a question, if they were sick, or forgot their permission slip. She knew every student's name and remembered the last conversation they had. She helped them find their way, hugged them when they needed it, and always had encouraging words. Most of all, she treated every student the same. She was kind and fair and cared about each one of us. And everyone knew it.

    Except, apparently, me. When I wasn't hated for having the mom who started the Parent Support Group, I was surprised. Truly and deeply surprised. My fears were unfounded and no one hated me, at least not for the actions of my mom.

    Six years later, when my class was just a few months from graduating high school, I was told one afternoon that the graduation planning committee was voting on the parent speaker for our ceremony and that my mom was one of the parents nominated. I was later told that she won the vote, and that it was unanimous. I was overwhelmed and happy and proud. But, this time, I was not surprised.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.