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11/11/2003: "Out Nights"

There is so much in memory which is stored up behind a closed door, until it might as well be forgotten, until the door opens, as if by accident. Someone opened one of those doors for me yesterday, talking about her own ambition to be a victim advocate; I remembered how my mom had volunteered with the hot line for several years. I was a teenager and had very little interest, and she took the confidentiality her task seriously and spoke very little about it. She was out some evenings, how long and how often I no longer remember, and I'm sure I took advantage of the fact to apply myself to some prosaic forbidden fruits. She stopped doing it, and I didn't notice that she had. But, how much of her life escaped my notice in those days! Maybe the help she gave to someone, all those years ago, is still helping. Thirty years later, I'm proud of her for doing it.