The Rally

I was 12-years-old when I participated in my first political rally. My Mom packed me into the gold Oldsmobile Cutlas Sierra and we pulled out of Penwood Court on a mission: we were headed to Jefferson City to support the pro-choice movement.

Political rallies and sit-ins were nothing new to Missouri's capitol city - throughout the 20th century, Missouri's placement in middle America made it a stomping and standing ground for civil rights and war protests. On this day in 1987, Mom and I were going to be part of an equally important movement: women's rights.

We arrived in Jefferson City early that morning. I'll never forget walking toward the grey slate steps of the Capitol Building. The streets and sidewalks were lined with protesters -- pro-life and pro-choice. A sky of picket signs blanketed my view and people were shouting at each other, but I wondered if they were listening.

"What's in the jar, Mom?" I asked, pointing to an erect card table on the sidewalk that held six glass jars, sitting at even lengths one next to the other.

"It's an unborn fetus," she replied.

"What?!" I gasped. I couldn't stop staring, and at the same time I was completely captivated by the display. It's as if jars of pickles were being put on display for a first-prize ribbon. "WHY would someone put an unborn fetus in a jar?"

"It's their way of telling women that having an abortion means killing a child."

"Well, isn't it the woman's right to chose, Mom?"

She looked at me and smiled. At that moment, I think my Mom knew she had made a difference in my life.