1968

LAURA VEIRS

Here is my mom, Leslie, in 1968 when she was twenty-six years old and living with my dad in Chicago. He was getting his PhD in physics, and she was finishing up her last year as a third-grade teacher before getting pregnant with my older brother. She would take time off to stay home with him. (I came three years later, after they’d moved to Colorado.)

Mom is a driven, ambitious, and deeply responsible person, but she also has a carefree side that comes through in this photo. Here you see her whimsy, her artistic spirit, her charm. Her smile is beautiful. The wind is in the waves and in her hair. Here is a young woman in the Windy City about to get rocked by the biggest decision of her life: the decision to become a mother. She could not have foreseen the discipline, dedication, and exhaustion that accompanies new motherhood. Who can? Still, she assumed the role like a natural. She took us around the world, showed us how to express ourselves artistically from a young age, instilled in us her deepest values of respect for others and for nature, and cooked us three balanced meals, day after day, year after year. She continued all this caretaking even after she went back to teaching when I was a first grader. Did she feel it was a grind? If so, she didn’t show it. Is she a saint? Of course not.

Looking at this photo, I want her to know that she’s right to be hopeful; that although her life will be filled with challenges, she’ll meet them with a fortitude I’m not sure she knows dwells within her.