by Beth Goodman

Disclaimers: None whatsoever. Oh, maybe a spew alert.

Feedback is always welcome: bethgoodman@e-scribblers.com.

Copyright © 2004 by Beth Goodman. All Rights Reserved.

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My grandmother was a big believer in communication skills. She was always asking questions, and happy to provide answers whenever she could. She was also never hesitant to admit she didn't know everything, but I suspect that may have been a survival skill she developed after I came along.

Now every child goes through what I call the "Why?" stage -- for every impossible question you answer they have another one hot on its heels:

"Why is the sky blue?"

"Because as the sun shines through the air, it makes the color blue."

"Why?"

"Because God made it that way."

"Why?"

"Because blue is His favorite color."

"Why?"

"I don't know! I give up."

"Why?"

Sound familiar? It's even more fun when you're arguing about why the child should do something they don't want to do.

My problem was, and is, that I never grew out of the "Why?" stage -- this can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the situation. But I can't help but wonder how Granny dealt with me without becoming a raving lunatic.

At the tender age of 4, I came out of a public restroom and started an interrogation with: "Gramma, what does F - U - C - K spell?"

Before I let her off the hook, she had been forced to give me a blow-by-blow account on human reproduction. She did leave a few mechanical details out that had me a bit confused regarding the positioning of the parties involved, but I saw one of my brother's Playboy magazines a few years later and it all sorted itself out.

I do have reason to suspect, though, that I came by my inquiring mind honestly. I can't say for sure if it was due to nature or nurture, but I can say that Granny was known to launch an interrogation of her own from time to time.

When I was in high school, Granny asked me about the kinds of drugs that were available to me from other students. I went to a pretty tough inner city school and so my choices were indeed quite plentiful and varied. I had never tried any of them, mostly because I didn't like the kids who sold them or used them, but I was curious.

It turns out I wasn't alone. Granny proposed, and I quote: "If you ever want to try drugs, bring them home and I'll try them with you."

Now how was I supposed to respond to that? There was no way I was bringing drugs home, but now I was afraid that if I ever tried them without her she'd be awful disappointed. As a result, I've never touched an illicit drug. I can't say for certain if that was her intent when we had the conversation, but it was indeed one of many choices I have made in my life out of love and respect for my grandmother.

On another occasion, we were shopping downtown when a group of punk rockers walked by with their hair dyed fluorescent colors and sculpted into fantastic shapes with safety pins attached to their ears as noses as nice little accents to the whole style. Granny took a good long look at them and then grilled me about why they looked like they did, and what punk rock was all about, and how did they get their hair to stay like that... She was simply curious, not judgmental, and genuinely interested in these people who seemed so different to her.

It often amazes me to think about how much Granny taught me through example. I learned to always ask questions, it's the only way you'll ever know anything. I learned to answer other people's questions honestly, and they will treat you with respect. I learned to be intrigued by the differences in other folks, instead of being afraid of anyone outside of my definition of "normal."

One of the things I look forward to most, when I meet Granny again in the great hereafter, are the conversations we will have about all the things we've learned in the meantime. Until then, I will keep my eyes, my ears, and my mind open, and be prepared, I will indeed be asking questions!

Take me to Life With Granny 11...

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