Democratic convention memories from mom

If you watched the political conventions, you may have wondered how long it would be before the delegates raised their lighters in the air. You may have suspected Oprah took the stage and asked audience members to look under their seats. Everyone looked so moved, so celebratory, so damn happy.

If you're anything like me, you had a difficult time understanding how an arena without a single stage-dive could inspire such a party. Some of them were do-si-doing their partners for crying out loud. To get to the bottom of the wackiness, I asked an expert on the subject: my mom.

Forty years ago, the great state of Idaho sent her to the Democratic National Convention in Miami Beach as an alternate delegate. She had no idea she would be swaying back and forth, singing with strangers by the end of it - especially not voluntarily. But, apparently, that's standard behavior at these things.

In fact, let's be honest, it's standard behavior for some people every four years. (Blame democracy for all those friends you've deleted from Facebook lately.) But, as my mom clarified recently, politics doesn't spur the zeal, the hope for change does.

For folks who don't even dare point their pointing fingers when delivering a speech, politicians sure know how to get the people goin'. Especially if that whole equal rights thing is concerned. Boy, then they really get riled up.

The year my mom attended the DNC in 1972, Women's Liberation was in full swing. For any memories in need of a refresher, that's when a group of radicals got together and decided women should enjoy the same rights as men. Freakin' radicals.

Keep in mind, my mom was a 25-year-old married mother of one at the time. She volunteered to help register people to vote one day, got elected as a precinct chairwoman because no one else wanted the gig, then somehow wound up at a DNC. The woman had never flown on an airplane before, yet there she was burning her bra with the breast of them.

OK, I don't know if there was any bra burning, but she definitely exposed herself to new things, people and ideas.

My mom roomed with a Boise State University English professor and Shirley Chisholm delegate who was only too happy to tow her roommate along from event to event, rally to rally, all in support of the Equal Rights Amendment.

She met "The Feminine Mystique" author Betty Friedan at one of those functions. She listened to a speech from congresswoman, activist and lawyer Bella Abzug, who once proudly announced that her place was "in the house - the House of Representatives."

Abzug had a penchant for hats, which she started wearing in the mid-'40s to distinguish herself as a working woman. That's the part of her speech my mom still can recall 40 years later.

Of course, the fancy cuisine from that exotic, Jewish-owned hotel where she stayed also left a lasting impression. Bagels and lox can do that to a "very sheltered" person, as she now describes her 25-year-old self. So can a gay-pride parade. My mom witnessed one for the first time through the window of her hotel shuttle. Her jaw eventually returned to its original position. Her views on women's rights never did, though.

She took in her fair share of Chicano Movement events, but they were few and far between compared with the number of Women's Movement speeches, appearances and rallies the convention had to offer. To put it plainly, the DNC turned her into a new woman.

Even with a guy who fared as lousy as Democratic presidential candidate George McGovern, she felt empowered and charged with the possibility to make a change. Hence, the "Kumbaya" convention moment.

My mom says the DNC closed with a song she'll never forget. She stood, arm in arm with strangers, rocking side to side, singing loud and proud a familiar ol' ditty: "This Land is Your Land." Clearly, immigration policy wasn't part of the platform that year.

Her story put things into perspective. Those wacky delegates from the convention suddenly didn't seem so wacky, just folks hopeful for their definition of better and brighter. Despite the bloody beating Republican nominee Richard Nixon served them in the election, some managed to cling to that hope.

My mom returned to Idaho after the DNC and enrolled for classes at Boise State University. She earned a degree in business administration and climbed the corporate ladder while raising four kids. And, she carried a briefcase to distinguish herself as a working woman.

Contact Xazmin Garza at xgarza@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0477. Follow her on Twitter @startswithanx.