Please, Just Ask a Question

After any lecture or presentation there is a time for questions. I generally don’t mind question and answer sessions; people often bring up interesting insights that I hadn’t considered. There is, though, one thing that I dislike about these question sessions. It drives me crazy when people raise their hands during this time and don’t ask a question.

There are two main ways a person does this. One way is when a person asks a question, but not before giving the speaker their own knowledge of the subject and resumé. At the end of a Presidential Lecture series talk, one man with a heavy accent left his seat and stood in front of the microphone. In nearly incomprehensible English he spent several minutes explaining his experience with animal behavior. After describing his own study he finally asked a question. However, the question didn’t relate to the speaker’s presentation at all; the man just wanted to see why her findings didn’t match his own. Similarly, during Professor Rasmussen’s lecture on Christianity and the environment one man in the audience prefaced his question by saying that he had recently attended the national environmental justice conference. This served only to let everyone in the room know how important a person he must be to have attended this important conference. Most of the time people like him just want to brag about how much they know or what they have accomplished.

The second way a person can ruin a question and answer session is by never asking a question at all. One of Professor Rasmussen’s fellow professors took up nearly five minutes of the question time talking about the difference between politics and grass-roots activism. It was great that he cared so much about environmental activism, but we were there to hear Professor Rasmussen speak, not him. I look forward to finally attending a lecture where the audience members ask questions, not give answers.

Grandma Mary and the Government

I spent last Saturday crammed in the back seat of my car with two backpacks, a laptop, one magenta bag, a box holding my new snow boots, and my Grandma Mary. As the car inched through the Bozeman pass Grandma began talking about the government. As soon as I heard the first words escape her mouth I knew it was going to be bad. I tried to quickly look out the window, but started feeling guilty for so blatantly ignoring her. I turned back around and prepared to listen to another conspiracy theory. For the next twenty minutes I learned how the government uses satellites to tell whether a person locks his door or whether he washes his hands after using the bathroom. I already knew about the satellites from previous lectures, but was surprised to hear that the government now has GPS thread that is woven into most of our clothes so the government can locate our position whenever they want. I know not to fight with her, so I nod my head and keep repeating “That’s horrible” and “Uh hmm.” Finally she stops to comment on Sara’s driving and I grab my St. Augustine’s Confessions and start reading. When Grandma notices she has lost her audience she wipes the fog from the window with her sweater sleeve and mutters the words to a Gaelic song. Peering over my book I smile at her. That is my Grandma.

Grandma Mary first appears like the typical grandma. She bakes loaves of fruit cake every Christmas, and tries to spoon mounds of food onto our plates saying we need to eat tomatoes because they’re healthy. She grimaces while listening to hip hop and once called my sister a hussy for wearing a v-neck sweater. She loves navy sweaters and blouses and sets her dyed hair in curlers every night. She drinks tea every afternoon and constantly buys nightgowns for my mom.

While these characteristics might sound like any seventy-five year grandma, my grandma really is unique. Conspiracy theories are an inevitable topic of discussion with Grandma Mary. She is also what I call an Irish supremacist. I’m constantly reminded of my great Irish ancestors who made up 32% of the armed forces in World War II. Did you know that more Irishmen died in World War II than all of the Americans in every following war? Grandma Mary loves to read about history and politics, but often confuses events or misinterprets what she reads. Whenever she starts a statement with, “I read that…” I know that only part of the upcoming information will be true. She is honest about everything, to the point of being mean. She once told an obese man in Wal-Mart that he needed to lose some weight. She did, however, empathize with him by showing him her rounded stomach.

Even though Grandma Mary is a little crazy at times, she is an amazing woman. When she was only nineteen years old she came to America to earn enough money to pay off the debts of her family back in Ireland. Since then she has worked diligently at every task from running her farm in Wyoming to her cleaning rooms at the Holiday Inn. At the age of seventy-five she still works at the Heritage Inn three times a week washing laundry and cleaning rooms. My grandma loves her family and tries to provide for us as much as she can. Nothing makes her happier than cooking us dinner and sending us home with jars of homemade jam and loaves of banana bread. She is also very proud of her children. When my dad received his doctoral degree in Education Grandma just clutched his hand and cried. She visits her elderly neighbors every day and loves to talk with children. After meeting any young person she will soon start referring to them as “love.” My Grandma Mary can drive me crazy with her stories and over-bearing personality, but those are what make her so special. Besides, there is nothing like a little government conspiracy to make a long drive interesting.

My Family

Here is a Christmas picture with my cousins at my Grandma Dee's house. This picture is missing quite a few unborn kids.

The vision in magenta without front teeth is me. My older sister is the girl holding the little baby who is my little sister Ashley. Aren't we cute?

Home

In the weeks before this Thanksgiving break countless people told me that everything would be different when I got home. I heard that people would treat me different because I was becoming educated and that I wouldn’t feel at home in my own house. This was scary. Although I am already getting comfortable with my roommate and my friends here, I was afraid of losing my sense of home. I looked forward to being in a place where everyone knew my background, my likes and dislikes, my personality. Home is where I can be comfortable just being myself, and I was worried I wouldn’t have that when I reached Sidney.

Coming home I did find a few changes. Finnicum’s Furniture had finished their storage building and the high school’s new science wing was completed. My aunt’s new house had a roof and the garage was nearly done. In my own house a faux wood humidifier sat in my living room and my bird Sunny’s cage was in the living room. At Grandma Dee’s there was a DVD player in the basement. While a few physical things had changed, home was still the same. My bedroom still looked empty, most of my favorite belongings now filling my dorm room. My grandma’s house smelled the same and the brown pleather chair was just as inviting. Both places were the same with just a few minor improvements.

Although I looked forward to the familiar surroundings at home, the thing I longed for most was to find my family unchanged. It was a great relief then to get home and find my family was still the same. My Uncle Geno still called me Gomer and chased me around trying to flick my arm. (That really hurts!) I watched late night television in the living room and perched on a bar stool in the morning eating a cinnamon roll. My whole family laughed while I demonstrated my newly acquired belly dance skills. We played Cranium on the kitchen table and laughed about Nathan drawing a calf for the word “caviar.” Joy flooded my heart as I realized that not much had changed. I could still perform goofy dances and wear my scruffy pajamas around the house. At home I don'’t have to worry about being articulate, funny, smart, or charming. My family already loves me, just as I am.

Thursday night I laid in bed with the covers pulled up around my neck, listening to my grandma’s soft snores. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was home.