If you are in the United States, here is a reminder to vote today.
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My grandparents- when I mention my grandparents I am always speaking about my mom’s mom and dad- were deeply religious people. Staunch Southern Baptists, my grandmother did not drink “hard liquor” until she was in her 80s, after my granddaddy passed. They were not particularly pushy about religion. When we were at their house we said grace before meals. They offered to take us to church but never pushed us to go. Their DVD case was full of VeggieTales movies but also romantic comedies. My grandparents also had five children, I have four siblings and fourteen first cousins.
After my grandad’s funeral in early 2016, my extended family went to Oma’s house. I think it was the first time in several years that all five kids and 19 grandkids were together. My grandmother made dinner with all five of her adult children and their spouses. The mood was warm in a memento mori way. My grandmother asked her kids if they went to church with their families, all five of them said that they did with at least some regularity. A relief for a religious widow.
Later that evening, we sat around my grandmother’s large dining table, plates full of thanksgiving style food that had been served buffet style off the kitchen island. Before we ate, Oma asked her only son- the most religious of her children- if he would say grace. We joined hands, my uncle bowed his head.
“Let us pray.”
The nine-year-old son of one of my aunts made eye contact with me and a few of his other cousins, clearly confused.
“What’s pray?”
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Recently, I have been thinking about two things very frequently. Firstly, whether I am happy, and as an extension of that thought, what it means to be happy. Secondly, whether I am unduly hard on my mom. These two things are related.