It is embarrassing to call what I grew up with “poverty”. I grew up experiencing just enough lack in life. My family didn’t have to worry about the toilet backing up like in the movie “Parasite. But we lived in a basement studio until my little brother was born. The public toilet for basement tenants was in the backyard of the house. The house was at the top of a hill. When it poured, the rain slid quickly down and down the hill. Most of the houses in the area were like that. I still vividly remember my mother changing the coal briquettes and my young self looking at her in silence. The heated briquette tongs were beautiful, they were shining red. The burnt briquette was light-gray. Mom replaced the gray one with a new black one. My mom was still beautiful even when she was replacing briquettes in the dark basement. Sometimes I was secretly proud of myself with the thought ‘My mom must be the prettiest mom in the world’. She was probably twenty six or seven.
When I went out with mom, I often heard “Your mom is really beautiful.” Mom was still shining despite her circumstances and even though she could seem a bit standoffish at first, once people got to know her, they found she was someone with a deeply caring heart and a keen interest in others' lives.
But that well-rounded mom was once very upset. My little brother was six and he was going to a daycare. As he was born with a bright personality and optimism, he got along with his teachers and his teachers also loved him. But a suspicion rose up about child abuse in the very daycare. Since I was in elementary school, I don’t know all the details. But I do remember what I saw the day I went there to pick up my brother. I went to the daycare center a bit later than usual. When I walked in the building, I heard a weeping sound seeping out from one dark room. I stopped for a second and opened the door. There was a kid crying soundlessly, sitting on folded beddings in a closet. I asked him to come out. But with a crying face, the kid insisted on staying there, explaining that his teacher had told him to be there. Soon my little brother ran toward me with a big smile. The teachers there all seemed happy, too.
In that daycare, there were a lot of kids who had both parents working. First, the price was reasonable since the daycare was established by the local government. Second, they stayed open late for those parents who worked late. However, sometimes those kids had to endure some unfairness and abuse. After most kids had left, the teachers and their own kids had snacks by themselves. Meanwhile, other kids had to just sit at another table and watch them. But none of those kids’ moms was in a position to make a big deal about it.
My dad was working in a big company. In the neighborhood where I grew up, my family, with a white-collar dad, was one of the relatively well-off ones. My mom didn’t need to work for a living. She could look after my brother and me as a homemaker. So she volunteered at my brother’s daycare as a representative of parents. She put on a flea market, made soap and sold it there. The profit was donated to a few families in the daycare who needed some financial help. Sometimes mom painted the daycare wall with a few other moms.
However, most of the moms at the daycare were working. Some parents had to get up very early in the morning to open their shop. Some families were living paycheck to paycheck. For most parents, making a daily living was already hard enough. Even though they noticed what was going on in the daycare, they had no money, time or energy to do anything about it. All they could do was to complain about what was going on at the daycare to my mom, the parents’ representative.
Mom stepped up for them. She talked to the principal about their concerns. The parents group officially requested an explanation, an apology and a plan to prevent it from happening ever again. My mom started losing favor in the eyes of the principal and teachers. But making wrong things right was more important to my mom. Her own son was adapting well in the daycare but his thriving was not all mom cared about. She knew unless she did something to make things right, this problem would be buried over time and someday there would be another child weeping inside of a dark closet in the empty classroom.
People from various fields showed interest in this case. A politician who wanted to gain some fame, the press asking for an interview and an investigating organization who repeated the same questions over and over like a puppet. With so many different purposes, they were set on turning the problem into a big social issue. For my mom, her goal was making sure that child abuse or discrimination would never happen again in a daycare. Soon the principal accused my mom of defamation.
My mom didn’t even know the legal definition of defamation. She was all worried after she got the summons. She was interrogated by the National Police Agency first and later at the District Attorney’s (D.A.) Office. The first person she faced at the D.A.’s office was someone called the “section chief” (Who knew what it meant?). Out of the blue, he started yelling at mom.
“Hey, lady! What were you thinking? Huh?”
“Ex..Excuse me?” Mom and her surprised eyes asked him back.
“Well, why did you talk about the principal here and there? That’s a crime of libel! If you commit a defamation crime? You go to jail. Then it’s obvious that you cannot see your kids anymore! You know that? Huh?!”
“Well, well, I... It… It was… It was wrong to treat kids like that at the daycare. Discriminating against kids and making them stay in a closet, that is wrong. Isn’t it? If a kid did something wrong, the teacher should discipline him not…”
Even before she finished her sentence, the sector chief’s snarky voice echoed in the room.
“Oh come on, lady! You still don’t understand the situation here. Whatever reason was, this is a defamation case, DEFAMATION! It is not important why you did it. If you go somewhere and talk about someone badly, that’s just an act of defamation.”
“Is… Is that so?”
“Yeah! Even if you witness your neighbor is cheating on his wife, and if you tell her that, that is a crime of defamation. You are guilty here!”
Mom had never had such an experience, getting yelled at. She had been a good student in her school days. The only time she was in trouble was when she spelled her name wrong in grade 1. The teacher sent her home, saying “Go and study more Spelling.”
Mom still had to get interrogated by the prosecutor. He explained to mom the definition of defamation again. Mom herself was prepared to take the results. But when the D.A. said “Say anything before you leave”, it occurred to her that she must say something about this nonsense in her own defense. She brought her chair closely to the D.A.’s desk. Then she hit the desk as hard as she could with her bare hand.
“Up until this day, when my friends told me ‘America is a good country to live, Canada is a good place to live’, I truly believed ‘My own country is the best – like being in a mother’s arms’ However, at this point, if what I did for the children is not just but rather a crime, I will accept that. I will take the punishment without complaint. But I can tell you, I will not teach my kids to ‘Consider others before yourself and live with others in harmony.’ anymore. Instead, I will teach them “Don’t care about others. Put your own interest at the top priority, and live selfishly.”. Her voice was strong and clear. At the end of 3 years of long investigation, the prosecutor finally cleared mom off the charges and dropped the case.
Even now, almost 30 years later, mom talks about the day from time to time. My proud mom who stepped up for others is regretting what she did. It’s not because of the lawsuit. Some years later when everything was taken care of, mom saw the fired principal across the street. Her tired eyes, forlorn walks grabbed mom’s heart. Personally, mom felt sorry for her.
‘She must have worked hard to get where she was… Why did I voluntarily become a leader in the sad incident of her life……?’
Mom regretted shaking the foundation of someone’s life even though it was for justice.
However, even in a mess like that, my mom was steadfast. When she was accused, she was just about my age. Now I can see how scared and anxious mom must have been. But at the time, as a kid of 12, I didn’t feel a slight change in my life. Everything was the same. Mom was still making dinner for us, she helped with my schoolwork and she was as devoted as always. She completely separated her kids from her own turbulent life so that we couldn’t notice anything different. Mom was still brilliantly building her career as a mother.
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