Personal reparations

Personal reparations

A post from my wife, Jane Brown
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She calls me her “angel,” “Mom,” or “my only friend.” I’ve asked her not to. Sometimes I’m flattered, happy to be an angel for someone. Other times I feel like it’s just part of the con – a way to get to me, a way to get the money she always so desperately needs.

I first met Mary when she was a housekeeper on campus, responsible for part of the building I worked in. She stayed late one morning to apologize for dropping my wooden horse statue out the window. She said she had opened the window to let some air in and accidentally brushed the horse out the window. It splintered on the bricks below.

I appreciated her apology. She didn’t have to own up to that. We learned each other’s names. She had a big smile and a happy sense to her even though I wondered how she made ends meet. The housekeepers had been in a fight for a living wage for years. Mary was just happy to have a job.

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