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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Titania_McGrath fictional account which is kinda cool

478. HI, MOM! WHAT'CHA DOIN'? Sheriff Willamina Keller sat demurely on the molded plastic chair in the hallway. She heard the band rehearsing one of their numbers in the music room; they'd been out on the field, practicing formations, and now that it was dark -- rather than spend the school's sports money on the stadium lights -- they came inside to work on their music. There were also football players coming and going, cheerleaders coming from their own practice, hanging around to flirt with the guys, and a rock in the flowing stream of humanity sat quietly, darning socks. One, then another of the guys would stop, fascinated -- hand sewing was a lost art, or so it would seem, and some squatted beside her, others loafed against the tan brick wall behind her: "Hi, Mom! What'cha doin'?" Willamina would laugh and look at the questioner and explain that she was darning socks, that there was no sense throwing away a perfectly good sock because there was a hole in it, here let me show you how this works -- and they watched, fascinated, as she wove woman's magic over a wooden darning egg, as she re-wove material with needle and thread, as she turned something most would discard, into a newly serviceable item. Very few of the girls stopped; most seemed less than comfortable with the whole idea, but none missed the fact that the guys were attracted to a woman who not only wore a dress, a woman who was feminine in her appearance and conduct, but a woman who exhibited womanly skills, and made it look easy. Willamina's laugh was easy and light, and the guys relaxed in her presence. Here was not the pale eyed Sheriff. Here was a mother, waiting for her son to get out of band practice. Here was a mother who talked with anyone who stopped, a woman of charm and kindness who made everyone who stopped, fell welcome. When band practice was finished, when laughing humanity piled out of the band room, some carrying cased instruments, some not, the janitor swung in behind them: he'd tended every other classroom, this was the last one before he ran a last pass down the hallways with a fresh dust mop, before he shut off the lights and went home. Willamina packed her sewing in a colorful carpet bag, a set of knitting needles and a skein of yarn sticking out a little: she took her warbag in one hand, her son's arm with the other: Linn pushed the heavy door open for her, and one of the girls -- whether out of jealousy, or wanting to be noticed -- "Hey Linn, do you always do that?" Linn turned, grinned and declared loudly, "Wa'l now, I'll have ye know my Mama here took a great deal of trouble to beat some manners into me -- *hak-kaff! Har-rumph!* -- I mean teach me good manners!" Willamina threw her head back and laughed, as did most who heard; they walked out to Willamina's Jeep and Linn unlocked the door, opened it for his Mama. "No, you drive," she said, smiling: "I want to gawk." "Yes, ma'am," he said, closing the driver's door and walking with his Mama around to the passenger side. Willamina waited until he unlocked the door to ask, "Now Linn, is your mean old Ma that bad?" Linn pulled the door and gave her his very best Innocent Expression, which he knew would not fool her in the least little bit, but it was expected. "Mama," he said, "I have never seen you with your fuse genuinely lit. I have never seen you mad enough to bite the horn off an anvil and spit railroad spikes, and I don't want to be in the same county should that fell day arrive!" Willamina laughed again, hugged her son quickly, looked at him with the warm affection of a mother who can see through her child like windowpane: "Do ya know me or what?" she murmured. Linn waited until she was all in, until she'd checked to make sure the hem of her skirt would not be caught by the closing door: Linn walked around the Jeep, climbed in the driver's side, ran the key into the ignition. "What would you like for supper?" Willamina asked, and Linn looked over, caught just a trace of fatigue in his Mama's profile. Willamina saw the same ornery look in his eyes and the same slightly crooked smile of his late father as he replied in one breath, "Do you really feel like fixing supper I'll take that for a no how about the Silver Jewel I'm buyin'," and Linn reached over and squeezed his Mama's hand, the way his Pa used to. He stopped and bit his bottom lip, then he reached into a hip pocket and pulled out a bedsheet handkerchief, handed to Willamina. She pressed it to her eyes, one, then the other, she blew her nose delicately, handed it back: Linn wiped his own eyes, blew his nose with all the grace of an air horn. "Yeah," he said, stuffing the damp cloth back into his jeans pocket. "I miss him too."