American flag patch on her arm moved as she pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin, as if preparing herself for an unwanted barrage from a bully.
Sourface took a small step forward, sneering. “You are a disgrace.” She pointed her finger at Rivera’s chest but didn’t touch her. “I don’t know how you can wear that uniform while speaking a language that is not American. It’s offensive and everything that’s wrong with our country.”
Rivera flinched, her nostrils flaring. Her chin notched higher. “I wear this uniform with honor and pride, ma’am.” Her voice remained even and controlled. “To defend my country and everyone”—she looked Sourface up and down—“in it.”
“Your country?” Sourface scoffed. “You should go back to Mexico.”
Mom bolted out of her seat, the chair legs scraping noisily across the floor. “Excuse me, but that is quite enough.” She turned to Rivera., her face softening. “I, for one, would like to thank you for your service. You deserve our gratitude, not a small-minded person’s slander. And you”—she pinned Sourface with a narrow-eyed look—“are you Native American?”
Her head jolted back, surprise written across her face that someone had interrupted her little tirade. “No.”
“No. I thought not, but I don’t like to assume. But since you’re not Native, then you’re a descendant of an immigrant as pretty much all Americans are. But I’m not going to tell you to go back to England, even though your ancestors could be from Eastern Europe. Why? Because you’re American. Just like I am American. Just like Miss Rivera here is American.”
The woman opened her mouth, but Mom sliced her hand through the air. “In case you weren’t informed, the United States has no official language, so you were correct. Miss Rivera here wasn’t speaking American. But then, none of us are, are we? Diversity is one of the things that makes this country beautiful. That makes it great. Don’t try to white-wash history or current events to fit your misconceptions.”
The woman sniffed, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the restaurant.
Mom moved around our table and stood in front of Rivera. “May I?” A second later she had Rivera folded into a brief hug, ignoring the professional etiquette regulations against personal displays of affection in uniform. Mom would no doubt argue the hug hadn’t been a sign of affection but support and, as everyone in the dining room could now attest, Mom rarely lost an argument.
Rivera collected moisture from her eye on the back of her finger. “Thank you.”
Mom patted her shoulder. “You did good.”
“Mexico.” Rivera rolled her eyes with a small chuckle. “Couldn’t she hear the New Yorker in my voice?”
My tongue finally untied from the shock of it all, and I said, “Some people only hear what they want to hear.”
“Besides, it shouldn’t have mattered if you were from Mexico and you weren’t in uniform. She should’ve known better.” Mom shook her head. “Ignorance kills me. Anyone who wears your Lieutenant bars has to be a citizen, and to be a citizen one must completely renounce all allegiance to any former country.” She stared out the door Sourface had exited. “It’s about time people renounce prejudice and racism.”
“And only speak words of kindness,” I added, thinking it wouldn’t hurt for Thumper’s mom to remind the population that if you didn’t have something nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all.
“Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve encountered something like that, and I doubt it’ll be the last.” Rivera’s shoulders rose and fell, though I could tell the confrontation had shaken her.
Mom gripped her shoulder. “Be true to yourself. Take pride in your culture and in your uniform.”
“I will, ma’am.”
Rivera waved goodbye, and Mom and I returned to our now lukewarm soups.
“I hope I didn’t embarrass you.” Mom lifted her drink to her lips and took a sip. “I know you don’t like scenes or confrontations, and I’m afraid my outburst might have garnered a few looks from the other patrons.”
“Embarrass me?” How could she even think that? “Mom, I am so incredibly proud of you, it’s not even funny.”
A sly look crossed her face. “I was a bit of a battleax, wasn’t I?”
I laughed. “Maybe not the exact word I would’ve used, but close enough. And, yes, you were.” I sobered. “That’s my battlefield. Thinking like that…ignorance can only be combated by education. If we want to effect change, we have to teach it. That’s what I’m going to do.”
She stared at me across the table, pride in her eyes.