"What if you knew her and found her dead on the ground / how can you run when you know? ... we're finally on our own this summer / I hear the drumming / four dead in Ohio."

"Four dead in Ohio." These words sung by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young are more than just a song; they recount an event that hundreds of "boomers" will never forget.

On May 4, 1970, hundreds of Kent State University students staged a rally on their Ohio campus to protest presidential dishonesty. Earlier that week, President Nixon had expanded the Vietnam War by sending troops into Cambodia — a move he had specifically promised during his 1968 campaign not to make. Americans were upset, and, naturally, college students were protesting.

The demonstration included a symbolic burning of the Bill of Rights. Troops from the National Guard were called to the scene by the Ohio state government to "keep the peace." They rode in Jeeps, ordering the students to "Disperse!". The next thing anyone knew, members of the Guard were spraying bullets across the crowd. Four of the protestors were killed by the troops' gunfire.

The scene, described by a survivor, overflows with ironies. One student protestor had a brother in the Guard who was ordered to subdue the protest — members of the same family, inadvertently on opposite sides. One of the victims had been working inside a sound-proof room in the Speech and Hearing building on campus all day — she wasn't even a protestor. She walked outdoors just in time to be killed by the Guard's gunfire.

To me, the greatest marvel of all is that I didn't first hear about this by reading a history textbook or old newspaper clippings. I heard first-hand accounts from an eyewitness: my own mother.

I can't remember the first time I heard about it. I have heard little bits and pieces over the years since I was little. Tears were in both of our eyes the day she recounted how she yelled "Duck!" to her close friend who was right next to her. She hit the dirt; he didn't. She lived; he was shot and killed. She will always wonder what those four students would have become if they had lived through that day.

Each year about this time, the memories come back uninvited. Images that used to haunt her in dreams are faded now, but the event itself is still unfair and never to be reversed. Family members of the victims tried for years after the event to find some satisfaction in seeing the shooters convicted for wrongful death. Still, the lives themselves could never be replaced.

Better than I, my mother and her cohorts understand the pain of senseless violence and the loss of peers experienced by the students at Columbine. I have learned from her that one's sense of being robbed — of peers and innocence — never quite goes away after such an event; it merely decreases in intensity.

Time and maturity have helped my mother understand the event with a more forgiving perspective. The National Guard had been on assignment to control a trucker's strike in the area for two days before, and some of the same troopers were sent on to cover the KSU protest. The men had to be sleep deprived and stressed, and since the ROTC building had been burned the day before, they may have expected violence. Any sudden movement may have set them off. Photos were taken of the commanding officer using his baton to try to stop the men from shooting.

Naturally, there are two sides to every story. Still, four lives were ceased forever. Nine people were wounded physically. Hundreds were traumatized by seeing their friends shot at during what they considered a civil protest. Many more were demoralized by the realization that the free expression of opinion and the youthful demand for integrity in a leader could be stopped by brute force and gunfire.

The good news is that life goes on. In each generation, something redemptive and wonderful is revealed. God really does work some marvelous things out of pain and injustice. My mother's experiences have made her emotionally strong, sensitive to the pain of others, and street-smart. I have received the benefit of learning these qualities from her without going through all the pain.

Realizing that my mother had been through traumatic events both national and personal has also given me a deep respect for her as a person. As a child, you trust your parents' judgment "just because." After learning more about their lives, you can honor and respect them because of specific things that they have seen, lived through, accomplished, and become. As an adult, you will realize that your parents were once children, and that they had to walk through every step of life to arrive at maturity.

When I watched Oliver Stone's controversial movie JFK, I insisted on watching it with my mother, because she had lived through the assassination of President Kennedy and all the aftermath. I relied upon her to tell me if the movie portrayed events differently than the nation had experienced them in 1963. I trust her first-hand memory more than my recollection of textbook history.

Tin soldiers and Nixon's coming. We're finally on our own. This summer I hear the drumming. Four dead in Ohio. With these famous Neil Young lyrics, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young sing a history lesson to all generations with ears to hear. With her own experience and her willingness to share, my mother taught me compassion and bravery.