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Adrienne Rush, 17, and grandfather
Bernard Friendlich, 89, Virginia
A childhood ravaged by polio, a world war and, now, cancer. My grandfather has fought it all, as his one true passion kept him alive: art.
As a strong and athletic boy, being confined to bed with polio was agonizing. His legs, twisted and unstable, were kept painfully clamped inside metal braces, and he was told that he would never walk unaided again. It was on his eleventh birthday that he received his first set of watercolor paints. Frustration quickly took over and they were hurled across the room when perfection was not achieved immediately. Boredom forced their retrieval only minutes later. Over time, crude strokes laboriously turned into sweeping landscapes and detailed portraits.
Two years of self-enforced exercise later, my grandfather defied the odds and walked to school -- braceless. And football never reclaimed his heart, for art had consumed him. It carried him through school, and then into World War II, in which he worked as a camouflage specialist. During his four years in the war, he created a portfolio of over seven hundred pieces. He mastered everything from the wooden sculpture to the oil painting to the charcoal sketch.
The next sixty years or so were spent building: first a marriage, then a family and a home. My grandfather's house is truly a museum -- every room was either built with his hands, or is filled with his artwork.
Today, lymphoma is his current battle, although he appears to have the upper hand as he still works on his art every single day. Recently, I asked him if he was scared, to which he replied, "I know that through my art and through you I will not stop living. In a sense, art gives me immortality, and so I have nothing to fear."
Morgan Rush, 18, and grandmother
Peggy Campbell, 79, New Jersey
"Be a bouncing ball, Morgan," my grandmother would always say to me. When I was younger I would rise up my feet and bounce around thinking, in my juvenile mind, this is what she meant. As I became a teenager she continued to say it, until one day I asked her what it really meant.
Her explanation was this: "Some grandparents want their grandchildren to be rich or famous. But I want you to be RESILIENT. I want you to face life head-on and be able to bounce back from whatever comes your way."
My grandmother has demonstrated this life quality to me many times over. As I interviewed her I got an in-depth look at resilience. My grandmother lost her oldest son to a drowning accident. She raised three more children. When they left for college and she was to enjoy her new life, her house burned down. After months of rebuilding, she discovered that my mother, her daughter, was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. She sold her beautiful home and came to nurse my mother back to health. Following my mother's cancer fight, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought it like a trooper.
She's told me not to fear the bad times because those times bring us clarity. When I ask her what she saw so clearly in the bad times, she tells me "love and family." These are the things that matter most.
When my grandmother was little, TV shows taught people new songs by asking them to "follow the bouncing ball." Her life has taught me to be a leader not a follower, keep a song in my heart, and embrace the tough times because a sunny day is coming. So watch the bouncing ball -- because it will be ME!
Quyen H. Ngo, 16, and grandmother
Lien Huong Hoang, 74, California
Considering the difference in generations, it is only expected that there are innumerable differences between me and my grandma. Yet the one thing that separates us is not something defined by when we were born, but rather something defined by the experiences we have had, or have not had. I sob like a baby, yet I have never witnessed her shed a tear. When my grandma, Hoang Lien Huong, told me the story of her life, I finally understood what it meant to be all cried out.
Growing up in the midst of rising communism, my grandma found the beauty of love in ugly times and later gave birth to six children. Enduring through the many hardships of the time, there didn't seem to exist any obstacle too great for my grandma... until she finally met her match: at 36, the love of her life passed away, and she was left with six mouths to feed.
Lien Huong's life unraveled as she sank into the darkest years of her life. For two straight years, she spent her days in depression and tears. She had enough to provide for her children, but her greatest demon was not income -- it was her personal feelings of hopelessness.
The resilient spirit in Lien Huong would not stay down. My grandma bounced back into life and found work not simply to support her family, but to realize, again, meaning to life. She did, however, make a trade in regaining her spirit. She had put the love and tears behind her, and she would not look back.
Now that I have learned of her strife, how she loved and cried once and not again, I can understand her dried-up tears. I have learned from the resilience of her soul to never fall and remain fallen.
Devneet Singh, 8, and grandmother
Bhupinder Kaur, 55, Georgia
MY NANI MAA'S LIFE -- DREAMS AND STRUGGLES
(Nani maa is a Hindi word from India, meaning 'Maternal Grandmother')
"The worst day of my life was the day my husband died," Nani maa said, with a sigh.
She was wearing a pink and purple sari and her gray hair was neatly tied in a bun. She had a gloomy expression on her face as she was talking to me.
Sitting beside the fireplace, sipping her ginger tea she related, "It was very hard for me to bring up my two kids without enough money. I could not get a good job in India because my college degree was incomplete," she continued in a somber tone.
"Then I went back to college to finish my degree and I got a job in a bank. I left no stone unturned to give my children a good education."
Nani maa gave me a big, warm hug and, pulling me closer to herself, she said, "You are lucky to be living in America -- 'The Land of Opportunities.' You are getting an excellent education. I had always wanted to become a college professor. My dream remains unfulfilled, but I want you to fulfill your dreams. Work hard to reach your goals, never ever give up, and remember 'Rome was not built in a day.'"
As I am writing this account, her words still ring in my ears. In recognition of my Nani maa's hard work throughout her life, I dedicate this story to her.
Lauren Blomquist, 18, and great-grandmother
Bertha Dziurgot, 91, Connecticut
ANDY AND KNITTING
Sitting quietly at the kitchen counter in her small blue colonial, Bertha Dziurgot, now 91 years young, reminisces of her earlier days. "Everything was easier when Andy was here. Everything is just so hard now," she softly mumbles as she stares off into the distance.
Andy, formally known as Andrew Dziurgot, was the love of her life and husband for the last 69 years. He recently passed away at the age of 89.
"It was like her passion for life just died; until someone brings up Grandpa, and it's like someone flipped a switch," explains her granddaughter.
Neither Bertha nor Andy finished high school; both dropping out to work in factories. However, they successfully managed to put all three of their children through college to become an electrician, a nurse, and a secretary.
"We had a tough life, but we got through it together," Bertha explains as she softly grins. "Andy and knitting," she added. "Knitting is what kept me sane."
Throughout their marriage, Bertha would always be found with needles in hands. Even at church, she would sit behind someone with a knit hat and figure out the pattern so she could make it herself, rather than listen to the daily sermon. "For Christmas and birthdays, everyone looked forward to mom's hats and afghans," says her youngest daughter.
Since Andy passed, Bertha had ceased knitting. She explained that she couldn't knit anymore. "There is just no way I could concentrate, not without thinking about my husband."
Although initially against her will, Bertha has recently moved to Florida to live with her son. It has been a complete turnaround since she moved, reports her son. Her passion for life, although not completely restored, is growing. And, she has started to knit again.
Erica Shin, 10, and grandmother
Pokyoung Shin, 78, Hawaii
SHARED DREAMS
Massive bombs from the North landed on South Korea. The ground shook as my grandmother hastily collected her precious art books, racing out of school. The vibration of the earthquake hit the floor as she stared wide-eyed at the gray smoke. "Help me, please, I'm really scared!" she prayed and raced toward home.
My grandmother's family was very poor. She dreamed of being a great artist. But when North Korea bombed the South, most of the buildings, including her school were destroyed.
As an adult, she moved to Seoul. She married, had children, and tried again to reach toward her artistic dream. But another war began. She moved to Hawaii and kept trying to study, but couldn't understand the language. Instead of giving up, she learned to sew and began to express her art through sewing. As she whispers her story to me, I paint a picture of her in my mind.
A single thread pokes through the eye of the silver needle as my grandmother adds more cloth to her scarf. She stares at the fabric, trying to visualize how the finished product would look. I watch her wrap her scarf around her neck as she continues, "There were many obstacles standing in my way. I felt lonely and afraid, but I never quit."
My grandmother has inspired me to become an artist. I want to continue her legacy so her dreams live on through me. The tip of my pencil circles around my paper as I lean closer, concentrating. I erase a line and stare carefully, wanting everything perfect. "I think I'll add some soft yellow to get just the right effect," I mutter softly to myself. I lean back to tape it against our refrigerator door and smile.
Emmeline Kaser, 12, and grandfather
J. Demar Evans, 82, Connecticut
As you wait in line at Taco Bell in Lake Oswego, Oregon, you may find yourself behind an older couple. They seem like typical grandparents. You may notice that the man, who seems to be about eighty, has difficulty walking. If you knew why, you'd see him differently.
He is J. Demar Evans -- my grandfather. It may seem like he just slowed down with age. You'd never guess that he was a star athlete or that he joined the military at eighteen. You wouldn't know how hard this man fought to overcome obstacles. You don't know what this man has been through.
During high school, my grandfather wanted to be an engineer or coach. He loved building and adored sports, and went through his teenage years playing every game he could sign up for.
When WWII began, his plans changed, and he wanted to become a pilot. He joined the military and trained as a navigator. The war ended before his deployment. When he returned, he met his wife, Marjorie.
While J. worked through college (the only one in his family to go), his ambitions changed. He wanted a family. He began teaching and coaching four sports.
When he was twenty-six, J. contracted polio, damaging his legs and stopping him from playing sports. J. remained optimistic and began taking summer jobs as a factory worker, park ranger, and builder. After his fifth child was born, encephalitis affected his vision and balance, and he was forced to give up coaching.
His unsteady walk symbolizes the hardships he overcame by maintaining a positive attitude. Nowadays, he wants to live to be one hundred. He'd say that the most important decision you make is who you marry. My grandfather's story teaches a valuable lesson about attitude and making the best of life.
Meagan Johnson, 13, and great-aunt
Sue Vaughn, 75, Texas
LIVING WITHOUT A VOICE
A petite cry rose from a poorly lit bedroom. A girl named Sue was brought into the world on November 3, 1931, in Aspermont, Texas. Sue is my great-aunt, who I look up to for good reason. At the age of 11 months, Sue underwent emergency surgery to relieve her of the effects of diphtheria. The doctors were in such a rush to save their young patient, that they ruined her vocal cords.
Sue went through life just fine, communicating with her own language. Yes, Sue couldn't talk; so she clicked. She speaks using a series of clicks and taps made with her mouth and tongue. Her family can understand her perfectly, but school was a different story. Sue says school took an amazing amount of courage. But with the help of a dedicated teacher and a caring sister, she completed all twelve years.
Sue fulfilled her lifelong dream when she met and married "Runt," her husband, and had four children. Sue says that it wasn't easy raising four children; but, Sue is an awfully strong woman. She was not only a homemaker, but also worked in a school cafeteria, a café, and a dry cleaner. She took full responsibility for caring for "Runt" after he experienced his first heart attack. She nursed him back to health and he is lively again.
Sue underwent another surgery at the age of 72 to correct her vocal inabilities. By trimming her trachea shorter and shorter, she is now able to speak! She still prefers clicking, but will speak if needed.
Sue inspires me. She overcame her "disability," though she wouldn't call it that -- more like her unique ability. Sue Vaughn is an incredibly strong person, who overcame the near impossible!
Valerie Kraus, 13, and grandfriend
Emilie Schleissner, 93, California
HOLOCAUST SURVIVOR
My grandfriend's name is Emilie Schleissner. She is 93 years old. What I love about Emilie is that she has always insisted I call her by her first name. "I am Emilie!" she exclaims, "not Mrs. Schleissner." Another thing that impresses me about Emilie is that she has always loved to work. I've known Emilie for fourteen years (all of my life). She has repeatedly told me that if someone would pick her up in the morning and bring her home at night, she would gladly work for them. "Working hard," Emilie tells me, "is what saved my life."
Emilie is a Holocaust survivor. I asked Emilie to tell me again what happened during that time. Emilie and her family are originally from Prague, the Czech Republic. Emilie, her parents and sister were held in a Czechoslovakian concentration camp during World War II. The Germans asked the Jews who would volunteer for them. Emilie said that she shot her hand up in the air immediately, unlike others who were afraid of the unknown. Emilie became a useful typist, she recalls. Emilie said she concentrated and tried never to be distracted.
One day, she recognized a name she was typing. It was her fiancé's name. He had been designated as one of the camp doctors. Now, he would be transported via train to Dachau, Poland within months of the war's end. She was devastated beyond belief. Sadly, Emilie would never see him again.
She despised typing lists of doomed people, but it spelled out her survival. Emilie later married a doctor who practiced medicine in Los Angeles. She has one daughter and one granddaughter.
Emilie said that she has valued every year and now, each day that is given to her here on earth.
Lauren Michelle, 15, and grandfather
Peter Michelle, 80, California
I like to say that my grandpa has nine lives. If he didn't, he wouldn't have been able to fulfill his simple dream of providing for his family.
Peter Michelle is a World War II veteran whose ship, the Intrepid, was bombed twice. Yet, miraculously, he escaped both attacks uninjured. As a newlywed, he was almost electrocuted when a lamp fell into the tub while he was bathing. He would have died if his wife, who'd been watching her favorite TV show, hadn't unexplainably come upstairs and pulled the plug. Following his move to California, he survived three serious car crashes, two caused by drunk drivers. On a construction job, he suffered a stroke while working on a 30-foot ladder; yet incredibly, he survived. Another close call happened while he was building a ride at Disneyland when an 8-foot ditch caved in around him.
Not many people can say they've had two quadruple bypasses, one of which was preceded by a full cardiac arrest, but Grandpa can. Although his heart had stopped, he was brought back to life by a doctor who was at the same party. On top of that, he's had one knee and two hip replacements. He got a pacemaker in 2002. His life was struck by tragedy when his healthy wife of 51 years suddenly died one month later.
Grandpa's dream of raising his family was fulfilled through hard work and perseverance. From his experiences, I have learned to be thankful for every second of my life and the people I share it with, because I never know if it will be cut short. Grandpa's lifelong dream came true because of his "second chances" at life. Today, Grandpa's dream is to live to see me graduate from high school. I hope his dream comes true.
Kate Lyons, 18, and grandfriend
Judy Abbruzzese, 65, Massachusetts
A FRIGHTFUL WARNING
"If anything kid, never be like me." The sentence rings through my mind, the sharp sound builds up into fear. She'd never say that she was a good person, and I'm glad because I'm not sure I'd be able to hide my apparent look of disbelief.
Judy grew up with three other siblings. She, herself, created a family of six. Lost in the crowd among her siblings, she became the black sheep. Through her dyslexia she struggled and latched onto a man named Kevin, a point in her life at which there was no looking back. Get the money, buy it, roll it, smoke it, blow it -- these became her days. Judy destroyed her life over marijuana that turned into coke that turned into crack. After awhile, how much can parents really do for their daughter?
Immersed in a life of sex, drugs, rock and roll, Judy was pregnant at the age of twenty-six. Her family held high hopes, praying a baby might turn her around for the better. March 5 the baby girl was born. Two weeks later a social worker picked the baby up.
"My life was out of control. Most of it is only a fuzz of a memory in what's left of my mind," Judy told me.
She fought hard for her children, or as hard as the drugs would allow her. By the age of thirty-four, Judy had lost all four of her children.
Tortured by a brain completely fried, she looks me in the eyes and begs me never to become like her.
Calvin Nurge, 18, and grandfriend
Chip Griffin, 53, Connecticut
CHIP GRIFFIN
Taking the first breath around Chip Griffin was tougher than the calluses layering his hands. That day, his garage, in which he spends most of his time, was thick with paint fumes and cigarette smoke.
He greeted me with a smile, broken with years of unhealthy habits, and a hoarse voice cackling more than the Devil himself.
You have to look beyond the constant backaches, beyond an unhealthy blood pressure, beyond the sailor mouth that he takes with him as a servant. Risking his life everyday for the local fire department, he still finds time to help the local Boy Scouts. With the constant pressures of life on his back, like his only son that won't speak with him and a wife who is never around, he still muscles out a ten-hour workday and another six hours in his garage fixing up old tractors to sell for cash. Work is this man's life; it's what keeps him alive.
Looking at him, most people pass him off as a loud mouth jerk. But inside this man's body lays a heart of gold, bigger than anyone's you've ever met.
Nicholas Thielen, 17, and grandfriend
Charles Marquardt, 61, South Dakota
CHARLES MARQUARDT: THE MAN BEHIND THE MOP
It's about eight o'clock in the morning and I'm on my way to school, just like I have been for fourteen long years. As I walk into another stressful day of school, my day is instantly better as I see the sparkling floors, clean enough to eat off of, the windows so clean it appears there is no glass at all, and the lemony fresh scent floating through the air. As long as I can remember there has been the unappreciated smiling face of Charles W. Marquardt. This is the story of the man behind the mop.
Like many of us today, Charles grew up farming by Elkton until his family had to sell their farm. He got started with horticulture by working for the local college in the horticulture department.
After high school Charles helped out our country by joining the Navy. He was assigned as a storekeeper as he was sent to Vietnam on the U.S.S. Enterprise, where he also learned how to play the piano. This is where his passion for piano playing first began.
Once he got back from Vietnam he worked for the city and then he got his own greenhouse. During Christmas time, the people of Elkton could always count on Charles to get their Poinsettias.
An average day in the life of Charles consists of coming to school very early, leaving late, and working hard to keep a smile on the students' faces -- because when the students have a clean room, they have a clean mind. When Charles is not making the school a better place he is participating in his church, playing his heart out on the organ.
Bijan Haney, 16, and grandfather
Kahlil Freidun Khamnei, 78, Georgia
"I saluted the Shah and he smiled," my grandfather reminisced. "He came over to me during the parade and simply patted me on the head. Since I was only a child, I felt this meant I was now royalty; that this meant from now I could only act with the honor and integrity of kings."
At the height of his life, Freidun Khamnei truly did live as a king. He owned an architectural studio in the city of Tehran, with hundreds of architects working under him designing banks and museums for the world, earning him a deep respect in his neighborhood as a nobleman. As history would happen though, Iran had a revolution in 1979 that overthrew the Shah and created tumult in the country. Fearing for the safety of his wife and children, my grandfather took them and fled the country, never to return.
With no job, no prestige, no money, and a family to care for, my grandfather fell into the dark ages of his life. He never lost hope and honor though, and continued drawing building plans alone on his dining room table. He sold his blueprints to make a living, never knowing if they were later used.
It was 13 years later when he visited the Getty Center in Los Angeles that he had an encounter with fate. "The building gave me such a strange feeling... like I had visited it before. It wasn't until I picked up a brochure at the exit desk that I recognized it as one of my sold designs," he recalled to me, beaming. "It reminded me, even with all of my loss, my skill and my honor would never die."
Though my grandfather suffered perdition, he showed me that with a royal soul, one could never truly lose their prestige.
Melanie Paticoff, 17, and grandfather
Harold Finkelstein, 71, New York
SHADES OF RED AND GOLD
My grandpa and I sit on the porch overlooking a lake that glistens gold and a mountain full of lush green trees, interspersed with crimson red flowers.
"You should come back here again in the fall, Mel," he says, speaking more to the mountains than to me. "The leaves will be beautiful then."
He leans his chair back and uses the stone wall as his ottoman. I cross my ankles, one on top of the other, just as he has done.
He begins without much prompting; he's always been a storyteller. "The trick is, Mel, you never give up. You have to believe in yourself and not let anyone stand in your way. Life is about taking risks. When I was your age, I was already investing in the stock market! I was about to go into the family business, which sold tires of all types, and I told my Uncle Max we should specialize. People love to buy from a business that specializes in something. More trustworthy and knowledgeable, you know?"
"Well, everyone doubted me. 'Don't trust the kid!' they said. 'He doesn't know.' Didn't want to give me a chance. But I wanted to give myself that chance. I gave Uncle Max a pretty convincing argument."
Grandpa chuckles to himself. "And you know the rest, Mel. Showed them, didn't I? Number one tire distributor in the state!"
I'm filled with pride. What a brilliant man, a brave risk taker with an overwhelming intelligence.
I did go back to his house that fall, but not to see the leaves turn shades of gold and red. I went to kick up my feet again with my grandpa, to see his face turn gold with pride and his cheeks flush red with happiness.
Annika Brynn Jenkins, 12, and grandfriend
Dora Marshall Mullins, 80, Virginia
At age five when she first touched the violin, Dora Marshall Mullins' life was changed. Now, at the age of eighty, she still performs beautifully.
At seven, she decided she wanted to become a concert violinist. Why? "I love the sound of great violin playing," she says. Her twin brother, Dick, played the cello; her older brother Ronald played the viola; and her mother played violin and piano and taught music in a little studio off the side of their house in Newport News, Virginia. Together, they performed chamber music as the Marshall String Quartet.
The family made many sacrifices so she could fulfill her dream. Every Saturday, they took a ferry over to downtown Norfolk to her lesson. The trip cost twenty-five cents per person each way. For that time, that was quite a lot considering you could get lunch for ten cents. It took an hour to get across the Hampton Roads Harbor. Her teacher, I.E. Feldman, or "Fiddlepop" as she called him, was her greatest inspiration.
She worked diligently, practicing hours of tedious scales, treacherous études, and technical concertos. She confides, "At times, I was very lazy." Seeing how great she is and how hard she works, I find that quite difficult to believe. She explains that she was very uncertain of what would become of all her work. But when she pushed past that feeling, "things opened up."
Dora Marshall Mullins is my inspiration. I have the same dream to become a concert violinist. She has touched the world with her beautiful music. Something she said struck me as quite awesome: "Hopefully, my contribution to the community will be having young people look up and say, 'There's that lady playing violin again. Doesn't she ever stop?' No, I'll play until my last breath."
Simone Livshits, 10, and grandfriend
Losang Samten, 72, Maine
THE MANDALA MAN
Losang Samten was born in Tibet. As a child, Samten knew what his goal for life was: to be a success in life and make something good out of himself. Samten started working toward his goal by becoming a monk.
"I liked being a monk because it's simple. It's very, very wonderful to be around people who are very devoted to being spiritual rather than just having more and more things," says Samten.
Then, Samten took a big step. He moved to America and started making sand mandalas. Sand mandalas are like paintings, except they're made out of sand. The word "mandala" means a geometric shape representing the universe in Buddhist symbolism.
"I'm the only one in the world who makes the wheel of life sand mandala," says Samten. When he dies, there will be no more sand mandalas like his. His start with great care and end with sheer beauty. Samten also does his work differently. He lets people watch him. This way people can see the artist at work. Then, when Samten is all finished, he dismantles his artwork.
"Most people want to make money rather than doing what I do. Everybody these days are running after money. They call me a 'starving artist.' I don't like how artists aren't appreciated until they die, then the people begin to respect and like the artists' work," says Samten.
"I'm not sure if I've met my goal. My goal can be achieved in my life, but I'm not in a rush to achieve it. I just pursue the practice," he says.
Samten may not think he'll reach his goal in life, but I think he already has. He left me with this thought: "I'd like everyone to remember patience," says Samten. "It is a key in life."
Rebecca Merryfield, 14, and grandfather
Donald Lintereur, 79, Wisconsin
The Boston Marathon is a grueling 26.2 mile race. Not many people can say they've run it -- but my grandpa can. He ran it three years ago at the age of 76! Through that experience, he learned many things. One thing that he's taught me is that life isn't a race; take your time and smell the roses.
My grandpa had a wonderful, adventurous life. There have been some mistakes that he has made over the past 79 years; but instead of dwelling on them, he believes that from every mistake comes a new opportunity to learn. One of those mistakes would be staying in the Navy too long. He feels he missed out on many things, such as his family, friends, and hometown. But it gave him a chance to meet new people and start with a new slate in life. The people he met never judged anyone and didn't care about what happened in his past. Everyone was equal.
My grandpa can safely say that he's had a successful life. Staying married for 55 years, raising eight children, and now enjoying fourteen grandchildren, are all measures of success for him. He feels a person's success comes by being able to wake up in the morning and look forward to your day. You'll know you have had a successful life when you look back and say you tried your best, even through the mistakes.
After running the Boston Marathon, Grandpa realized that this race represents life itself, just like the obstacles you must overcome -- and when you come across them again, you will know how to handle them. Finally, when you come around the last bend and cross the finish line, no matter how tired you are, you realize that you succeeded in what you came to do.
John Marsicano, 13, and great-grandmother
Julia Morrell, 105, New York
One meaning of "dream" is to see or imagine in sleep. My great grandmother, Julia Morrell, is 105 years old, and spends most of her day in the nursing home dreaming.
Most people would picture a 105-year-old woman as a tiny, skinny, cranky old thing who has no energy. Well, she is tiny, and at times cranky, but she's one of the most energetic 105 year-olds I have ever seen.
My great-grandmother was born on January 15, 1902. She has lived to see everything from Babe Ruth and Martin Luther King Jr., to both World Wars and the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I always ask her about what the world was like when she was a child. She always says, "Back when I was younger, we never really thought about what we wanted. Instead, everyone focused more on what we needed."
Grandma did not graduate from high school. She married at a young age and shortly after had children. She stayed home and took care of them. She also tells me how the world didn't have as many problems. "It seems the world was much more peaceful back then." Little did she know she grew up during one of the most life-changing centuries.
One Sunday, I asked her what she thinks the future will be like. She said, "The world is an amazing place. I wouldn't be surprised if humans started flying instead of driving."
"People only pay attention to the negatives," my grandmother said. "If people focused more on the positives, the world would run a lot smoother."
My grandmother believes that "good" people never get recognized. My grandmother is an extraordinary person -- and I look forward to seeing her week in and week out.
Sharon Zanti, 17, and grandfather
George Wirth, 71, Virginia
Grandpa routinely poses a rhetorical question to kick off long car trips. For instance, "Who here knows why the time changes?" commenced a two-day drive to Missouri when I was eight. In our family, Grandpa is the "lecturer" -- he can talk for hours, jumping from Columbus to Calculus. My eight younger cousins and I have endured thousands of these conversations; however, years go by before their profound messages can be appreciated.
Sitting in the passenger's seat, I begin the interview, anticipating the typical Grandpa advice strung together by a hundred or so tangents about the Cold War and his mining job in Utah. Conversations with Grandpa are saturated with information; it is easy to zone out and miss the objective. The last time I asked Grandpa for chemistry help, he was expounding on the atomic bomb ten minutes later. This car ride started similarly when I inquired about "choosing a career." As his first grandchild preparing for college, I had encountered this topic numerous times. Moreover, I was accustomed to ignoring his advice to "get a technical degree -- study math and science."
This time, though, I retired my lackluster nods and realized that Grandpa is not just rambling -- he is passing on a lifetime of experience. For example, he emphasized the importance of a plan: "if you need to change it, you'll still have direction." It was my "Eureka!" moment. Like Einstein discovering relativity, I discovered the significance of Grandpa's "lectures." I also understood how much Grandpa cares about my cousins and me. He tries to imbue as much information into us as possible -- like Civil War strategies and why we have time zones. Although he sometimes overwhelms me with facts, I appreciate why he does it. From now on, I will look for the message in everything Grandpa says.
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