We grew up in a small coal-mining town in western Pennsylvania in the 1960s, where life was simple. My dad worked long hours, often holding two jobs, while my mom stayed busy raising my sister, brother, and me, volunteering at our parochial school, helping manage the local hotel and bar, and serving on the Township Democratic Committee. Looking back, I realize my mother was one of my greatest teachers.

Before I was 10, my sister Karen and I were already learning about voting and civic duty. My mom took us “politicking,” dropping us off with campaign pamphlets and instructions to visit every registered Democrat on a street. But my mother refused to support candidates simply because they belonged to her party. She only campaigned for people she personally believed would serve the community well—even if that meant voting Republican. The local committee called her a “maverick,” a title she wore proudly. As a child, I thought they meant a wild horse.

My mother also taught me about leadership and service. She helped organize the school PTO, started affordable hot lunches, and created Friday night roller skating events to raise money for students. When the convent asked the PTO to buy a new couch for the nuns, my mother refused, saying the money belonged to the children. Some of the nuns disliked her independence, and one even scolded my siblings and me publicly for thinking we were “special” because our mother was “in charge of everything.” I remember feeling embarrassed—but even more proud of my mom.

Those moments shaped the person I became. My mother showed me how to think independently, serve my community, work tirelessly, and stand by my principles. I now understand that being a maverick meant having the courage to do what was right instead of simply following the crowd. Florence Sprock, my mother, taught me how to be an independent thinker, a productive member of my community, and an exceptional role model.