“Knowing my mom wanted to be a veterinarian when she was younger thrilled me. Some of the histories backed up stories she had told me, other aspects showed her shading of the truth, and other facets shocked me to my core.” Photo courtesy Dr. Marty Becker My late mother, Virginia, was a crazy cocktail of a person. She looked like “The Far Side” lady, was sassy like Maxine of Hallmark, had the kinetic energy and playfulness of Lucille Ball, and the kindness of Mother Teresa. Mom was born in 1924, and I arrived the day after Thanksgiving in 1954. For my entire life, she would make a Thanksgiving joke about how the turkey arrived a day late the year I was born. I hated it as a kid, chuckled about it as an adult, and have missed it dearly since she passed at age 89. I’m 70 years old and have taken some time this year to literally go through our entire house and curate everything I know would have to be done by our children, Mikkel and Lex, upon my wife Teresa’s and my passing. Having done this chore when both Teresa’s and my parents passed, we know it is a tough job, sorting too much stuff without knowledge if any of them holds special meaning. We also know as the agonizingly long process goes on, there is a tendency to barely glance at something before tossing it in a family, sell, donate, or trash pile. This made it all the more important for us to wade through the items and save those truly precious. Because I was devoted to this task, part-time over many months, I figured I could use a veterinary analogy. I could go beyond a first impression to an accurate diagnosis of the value of something (and where it should go) based on careful examination and research. Some things were valuable (a $5 bill signed by Babe Ruth with authentication), some precious beyond measure (old family photos and a detailed genealogy), and others very insightful. Mom had written her life history, giving raw details that delighted, surprised, and shocked me. Knowing my mom wanted to be a veterinarian when she was younger thrilled me. Some of the histories backed up stories she had told me, other aspects showed her shading of the truth, and other facets shocked me to my core (I never knew I had a half-sister who died in infancy and is buried in Ohio). Privacy of the mind is a crazy thing as nobody really knows what you are thinking, and time can alter reality, but this history was written when mom was young and going through a painful divorce and her history read as “raw and real.” My older sister, Cheryl, is still alive (12 years older) and confirmed many of the confessional’s good, bad, and ugly details. I looked at mom’s report cards and saw check marks under “Talks Too Much” on all of them. A Becker trait, I’m afraid. I looked at what people had written in her high school yearbook, on letters and cards she had saved, and as a bookend to her life, what was written in the memory book and on memorial cards she received upon her passing. If you used ChatGPT to scan everything in the boxes memorializing Mom’s life and asked the AI to come up with one over-arching theme, it would come back, “Be nice.” My mom grew up in segregated Selma, Ala. Her dad managed a factory making bags for storing and shipping cotton. The workforce at the factory was entirely black and mom always talked about how productive this factory was among others in the region. The reason it set records for productivity and profits? It was not a sharp tongue or intimidation tactic; it was because her dad had a mantra of “Be nice,” no matter what. John Sobera saw his workers were paid more, got adequate breaks, were treated with understanding, kindness, and respect, and had the chance for advancement … even into management. In the segregated South, only 50 years after the end of the Civil War, this was unheard of. John believed and acted out the adage that “all men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.” About 100 years later, I find myself in need of being reminded that: a) I need to treat everyone with understanding, kindness, and respect, b) All men are created equal, and c) Be nice. I live in an ultra-conservative area in extreme Northern Idaho, but crisscross not just the country, but the continents. I have visited 94 countries and all 50 states in depth. What I’m seeing troubles me. I see global tension, tribalism in politics, a rise in antisemitism, a rolling back of rights for the LGBTQ+ community, an increase in far-right nationalism. The separation between church and state becoming blurred, and the erosion of a women’s right to choose what happens with her own body. I saw a meme on TikTok recently, and to paraphrase it, “Beware of any movement that acts as though the world is full of enemies to be attacked or destroyed, rather than full of neighbors or fellow man to be loved. Beware of any movement that desires to be an instrument of wrath, rather than a source of understanding, generosity, compassion and mercy.” Whether you travel to a different county, country, or continent, you will find people are about the same everywhere. They want love, safety, peace, food and economic security; opportunity for advancement, and for their children to have an even brighter future than they had. Over the past few years, my mother’s mantra to “Be nice.” has become whispers, drowned out by rhetoric that makes me want to fight for the things I believe in, which could be boiled down to “accept everyone as their authentic self and to respectfully let everyone live their own life.” As we approach the end of this quarter century, I commit to stop judging people who do not believe the same things as I do. I will still speak up about what I strongly believe in, but without hate and only with love and kindness. Marty Becker, DVM, writes regularly for Veterinary Practice News. Dr. Becker is a Sandpoint, Idaho practitioner, and founder of the Fear Free initiative. For more information about the organization or to register for certification, visit http://fearfree.com/. Columnists’ opinions do not necessarily reflect those of Veterinary Practice News.
