My grandmother and I went to China the summer I was 23. During that trip, one of our tour guides stopped to talk with me. “I had heard in America young people don’t respect their elders,” he said, “but you take such good care of your grandmother. It must not be the way I heard. Or she must have taken great care of you when you were a child.”

I just ( Read more... )

Someday I will write about the strange and prickly woman who is my grandmother. I will write about her unflagging support and about the communication gap we've never been able to bridge. I will write about her calling me and saying, "You're voting for Obama, right? Good." I will write about the first time we met, when she pointed at my chest ( Read more... )