by Cynthia Gilmore

Dear Mom,

I’m watching The Waltons. I’ll pause until you stop giggling. It’s hard to pinpoint what prompted me to seek out the 1970’s show, but an escape from a long list of current affairs is at its heart, and a recent interview with a musician who confessed to watching it with his family last year.

Sadly, the pandemic rages on, round two or three, I’ve lost count. We had about a month of carefree, return to normal days. June seemed so full of hope with vaccines getting into the bloodstream of so many, unaware yet that its efficacy was less accepted than assumed and undermined by false information and fearmongering.

Mask-wearing is a political issue in America, thanks initially, to the former president, and now carried out by extreme-right political operatives. Can you believe it? Wearing a mask to help stop the spread of a potentially deadly disease is deemed by many as an infringement of personal freedoms and too much to ask. Politicians and social media hearsay have precedence over science and medical professionals; committed they seem, to repetitive angry rhetoric above a healthier, co-created society.

Ninety percent of current covid patients are unvaccinated, overwhelming health care systems in multiple states, which could have been avoided. School board members and teachers have been threatened by Governors and parents when they’ve chosen the health and wellbeing of children and staff over political mandates and misinformation. It’s beyond heartbreaking.

What would Mrs. Walton do? The show characterized her as a loving mother with a firm set of expectations, a devout Baptist committed to her beliefs. Her attachment to religious ideology is often tested and opposed by Mr. Walton, whose own religious views are left mostly to the imagination. While often saccharine to my well-established cynicism, I resist rolling my eyes as their debates circle around doing the right thing, above being right.

I know what she would do. Mrs. Walton would wear a freaking mask and sew a batch for the community with scraps of chicken feed bags and Mary Ellen’s old coveralls, a spirited MacGyver and caregiver of the Great Depression.

It gets worse mom. Women’s rights are toast thanks to pro-life associations. In Texas last week, where the Governor designated that mask-mandates are against the law, he approved a law that prohibits abortions after a fetal heartbeat is detected (about six weeks). In addition, ANYONE can sue abortion providers or others suspected of intervening on behalf of women’s reproductive health. Complete strangers get to weigh-in on women’s health in Texas. So, mask mandates, which potentially save lives, are an infringement of personal freedoms, but presiding over women’s health is not.

The Supreme Court declined to oppose the Texas law and Roe v Wade hangs on by a thread, blown about by the winds of extreme right-wing hyperbole. I miss you and Ruth Bader Ginsburg more than ever.

The Texas Governor and others are pandering for more votes at the expense of women’s freedom. Will his legislature support the millions of children he claims will be saved by his lawmaking? Will he provide for those born into poverty, or resulting from incest or rape? Doubtful. Moral high ground begins and ends with self-righteous bombast and the next election. And $10,000.00 checks won’t go to the children, but to the neighbor, the butcher, baker, or candlestick maker, who points the finger: a loaded gun needing no permit.

What would Mrs. Walton do? I can’t imagine a woman’s womb as the topic of conversation in the Walton home. A private and personal matter, and not written into the script, as far as I’ve seen. What is scripted is this; if a child was left on their doorstep, even an older child with disabilities, they would cherish her or him as best they could. It’s a leap of faith that they cared for so many during the depression, but in the idealized reality of the show, I’m comforted by the storytelling. I remind myself that countless others will do the same if new laws remain unchallenged. Offer help, instead of hate, compassion instead of judgement.

So now I can appreciate why you watched The Waltons. When the show began, it was 1972. The Vietnam War raged on, the Watergate scandal began, and the horrors from the late 1960’s still pervaded American consciousness. Ironically, Roe v Wade was making its way from Texas to the Supreme Court. It was an escape, a diversion from hard truths faced each day. A reassurance that people survived worse things and thrived, like a ten-year depression and two world wars. That doing the right thing would prevail and hold up against hatred and fear.

As our democracy is ripped away day by day by elected officials sworn to uphold the Constitution but determined to bend it to their almighty will, your counsel is sorely missed; the loss more painful today, as I attempt to move in some direction to help make the world a better place without your wisdom and encouragement.

For now, I’ll have to rely on The Waltons, good trouble (per John Lewis) and faith in the heart you nourished.

Much love, Sparkie.

This letter to was originally published on Cindy’s website: https://www.dearmomm.com

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