Maybe it was just a collision of the times. Or maybe the universe sent her exactly what she needed.

Since I can remember rushing to the kitchen table to grab a piece of toast before the bus, I could hear my mother say, “Put your shoulders back.” It was part of the morning vocabulary, which also included, “I love you. Have a nice day,” as I raced out the door, my wet hair dripping, my toast crumbling, my shoulders back. 

You can’t give someone confidence, but you can show them what it looks like, even in themselves. 

At her lowest point. After my father left. After we lost the house. When she forced down Heath Ice Cream bars, just to keep up her weight. It was then the world introduced shoulder pads. She wore them every day to the Superintendent’s office of ISD #206. Each blazer, each blouse, gave the illusion of confidence. Strength. She needed to see it. She needed me to see it. 

I don’t know who realized first. Was it Herberger’s? Dayton’s? My mom? Women of the world? I suppose it doesn’t really matter who got there first, but we got there. I got there. No longer needing the padded version of ourselves. She was strong now, my mom. Standing. Laughing. Loving. Living. Confidently. Beautifully. 

Our internet was barely working this morning. My mouse was out of juice. I needed to restart my sluggish computer. Slouched over my keyboard, I heard it — “shoulders back.”  I smiled. Sat up straight. I rebooted along with my computer. And here we are, telling you to be strong. Nothing is more beautiful!