My mother was widowed at thirty-six.  She was left with young orange groves that were not yet producing, cattle that needed to be worked, quarter-horses that needed to be trained, and an eighty-five-year-old house.  People meant well when they told my mother to sell the place and move to town.  But my mother was determined to hold onto the ranch, which had already been in my father’s family for a hundred years. 

In those days, the nearest house was half a mile away.  The directions to our house included the phrase, “Go to the end of the pavement and keep going till the road curves.”  Mama was in the middle of nowhere with three children.  My sister was twelve, my brother was nine, and I was eighteen months old.  It was a little scary when the sun went down.  

Along with the ranch, Mama inherited Gordon, Daddy’s cousin.  Gordon worked for Daddy for years to supplement his income from his stills in the swamp.  In the language of those days, Gordon would get “liquored up” most weekends, sometimes from his own ‘shine, sometimes from the package stores across the county line.  He would dry out usually on Monday, sometimes Tuesday, and show back up to work.  Mama had enough on her plate without managing Gordon. 

I was too young to remember this, but Mama would tell about one Friday night, late, when Gordon came up to the house.  He had imbibed heavily and started honking his horn and yelling for Mama to out. “Come out here, Sissie!  I want to propose marriage to you,” he slurred.  Mama turned the porch light on and hollered for Gordon to shut up and go home.  He threatened to stay there all night until Mama came out and accepted his proposal.   

Normally Mama would have turned the dog out, but because Gordon worked on the place, the dog knew Gordon.  As Mama told the story, she stepped into the house, got one of Daddy’s shotguns, rammed a shell into the chamber, opened the screen door on the porch, and fired over Gordon’s head.   

Funny how fast a drunk can run when birdshot passes over their head.  Gordon made a beeline back to his old truck and fishtailed it out of the yard.  Mama fired him the next day. 

There were a couple of other times men would come up to the house, trying to catch Mama alone.  I barely remember one of those times.  As I remember it, Mama knew the man and knew he had a shady reputation.  The older kids were at school, and apparently, the man thought Mama would be alone.  He did not know about me or that I would be home with Mama. I was about three or four, and I remember the man wanted to come into the house, and Mama would not let him in.  He started to threaten her.   

We had a German Shepherd, my best friend, whose name was Mo.  Mo was on the porch with Mama and me, emitting a low growl.  Apparently, the man was hard of hearing, and from his vantage point, he could not see Mo.  When Mama had enough of the man’s threats, she opened the screen door.  The man thought Mama was giving in and started toward the steps.  Then Mama said to Mo, “Sic ‘em.”  Mo needed no further invitation.  He charged through the door.  I still remember the man turning on his heel and running for his truck.  He slammed the door, and Mo leaped to the open window, snarling and snapping.   The man cranked the engine, jammed it into reverse, and spun the tires to get away.  Mo chased him for a quarter of a mile. 

Word got around that Mama had a shotgun and a German Shepherd, and she was not afraid to use either one.  No more strange men stopped by the house.

 Another politician has stepped down, accused of multiple instances of sexual harassment.  It happens too often.  Men think they can exert power over women because of their position or just because they are males.  Crude remarks are not just “playful banter” or “locker room” talk.  Such remarks are an effort to intimidate or control women.  Every person has a right to protect their own body from unwanted touch.  Yet, women fear for their jobs or fear retaliation if they object or set a boundary.  It is hard to speak truth to power.  It takes courage to say a person in power is acting inappropriately. 

I know the church is not immune from this type of harassment.  I want to say clearly, such harassment has no place in the Kingdom of God.  I cannot imagine Jesus ever sexually harassing a woman or a man.  His followers should not either. 

I find myself wishing Mama was still living.  She had a lot of courage.  She might have even found a German Shepherd, got Daddy’s shotgun, and drove to New York, just to help one politician get the message.