I
n the past several days, my
92-year-old grandmother’s
health has starkly declined,
and she is currently
in the hospital. The
consensus
among
my family, based on
what doctors have
told us, as well as
my
grandmother’s
chosen
course
of
action, is that she is
going to die soon.
My
grandma
—
my
father’s
mother, whom I call
Bubba — is the only
grandparent I’ve ever gotten to
know. My mother’s parents were
both gone by the time I was born,
and my dad’s dad died when I
was almost 2 years old.
I think this made it difficult to
establish a precedent of having
large family gatherings. Without
that generation’s input — without
my parents and their siblings
being held accountable by their
parents
to
stay
consistently
connected to their family —
people drifted apart. Families
picked different coasts and, for
the past several years, I have seen
my cousins and relatives once
every other year or so, for a few
days filled with rushed catching
up that is only performed to
maintain the collective idea of a
nondescript, hazy in-the-loop-
ness with one another.
My childhood was centered,
then, around my immediate
family: my older brother and
sister and my two parents. To
make up for this absence, my
parents would frequently invite
friends for dinner. I looked up to
some of these people. I gossiped
with my mom about their lives
and what I noticed versus what
she saw. They became extensions
of my family.
Indeed, my parents, from a
very early age, taught me to try
to make family out of my friends.
To create a chosen family for
myself.
My grandmother and I, then,
never really established a strong,
specific, intimate relationship.
I would call her every now and
then to tell her about my goings
on; I played piano for a long
while, and she had played all
her life, so we connected over
that. Or when I went to the
University of Michigan, and she
lived nearby in Novi — staying
in Michigan after my dad grew
up in Detroit — there was some
excitement about being able to
connect more often.
Once, I bought her a disc of
sonatas composed by Bach and
played by Sir András Schiff, whom
I heard play at Hill Auditorium
during my sophomore year. She
loved it, hugging me as she told
me how sweet a gift it
was. She consistently
sent me checks for
my birthday and for
Jewish
holidays,
even if my name was
sometimes
spelled
wrong. One time I
was in the car with
my
parents
and
Bubba. I mentioned
that Diego Rivera, for
some time in his life,
was rumored to have
experimented with cannibalism.
(The rumors are true.) Bubba,
with fantastic comedic timing,
dryly said, “One should not eat
his own kind.”
These are some of the stories
that first come to mind when I
think of Bubba. During my time
in Ann Arbor, I have only seen
my grandmother — except the
times my dad visited her — once,
when we met at The Lunch Room
and debated the merits of Hillary
Clinton versus Bernie Sanders.
Seeing my grandma, I think,
reminded me of that absence of
extended family. Reminded me
of her strained relationship with
my dad, and of the possibility
that families can gradually drift
apart forever.
And since she has been in the
hospital, I have only just begun
to confront all of this. The holes
in my relationship with my
grandmother, the things we did
not share about ourselves with
each other, the stories we did
not tell. I feel sadder now, in her
impending death, than I ever felt
happy with her in life.
Bubba’s health decline has
brought to mind that I used to
lie very casually and habitually
to my friends, family, teachers,
school
administrators
and
friends’ parents. Lying of this
sort is still something I struggle
with. One lie I have told most
frequently over the years is that
of my grandmother’s death. I
have used it as a way of escaping
some responsibility or other,
an excuse to not have to attend
some tedious outing or once,
even just, in eighth grade, to
evoke sympathy and compassion
in a girl I had a crush on. My
grandma and her body and her
life became props for me to play
with as I navigated the social
situations of my adolescence.
I feel guilty about that. And
now, in my Bubba’s sickness, I
feel that guilt bubbling to the
surface of my mind. What more
could I have done to cultivate a
relationship with her?
I don’t know, really. I have long
understood I’m not as close to my
extended family as many of my
friends are with their families.
But the sadness I feel now, I think,
stems from a sense that after my
Bubba is gone, I will never be
able to change the content of that
relationship. Instead, this will
be my grandmother, this will be
what she was.
But maybe that’s not true.
Maybe, as I grow up, I will begin
to adopt new ways of thinking
about my relationship with my
grandmother. To learn a blunt
fact of relationships — that some
of them simply end, even those
that were once important to you.
And they will end in unsatisfying
ways that will make you question
if more life could have been
juiced out of what you had with
that person. And to know that is
part of it, part of being a social
being : the chance that it will fail,
that you will not be able to wrap
things up in a nice bow and share
the wonders of that gift, together.
But I ought to know, also, the
potential beauty in taking this
risk. To know that each time a
friendship does blossom, it is
despite this risk, this potential
sacrifice
that
both
parties
have made. To think about
successful familial relationships
in the context of this risk. To
remember my mother and father,
for example, who came to New
York City to follow their dreams
to be psychoanalysts and met
at a Marxist psychoanalytic
conference in 1980, ultimately
falling in love and themselves
creating a beautiful, expansive
family that means everything to
me today.
My
grandmother,
without
whom my family would not be
possible, lived a full, long life.
Born in 1925, she witnessed a
fundamentally
transformative
period of human history. She
made and raised four children,
who have collectively produced
seven children themselves.
No matter the extent of our
closeness in life, we will always
remain connected, contingent,
knotted to the same web of
lineage.
She
produced
and
nurtured half of my genetic
makeup, half of me and my
siblings. This connection with my
Bubba will continue to express
itself as my ongoing relationship
with my family — both given and
chosen — develops and evolves.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, November 21, 2017
REBECCA LERNER
Managing Editor
420 Maynard St.
Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.
EMMA KINERY
Editor in Chief
ANNA POLUMBO-LEVY
and REBECCA TARNOPOL
Editorial Page Editors
Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s Editorial Board.
All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
Destigmatize sober fun
MICHELLE PHILLIPS | COLUMN
Lessons of a goodbye
Carolyn Ayaub
Megan Burns
Samantha Goldstein
Emily Huhman
Jeremy Kaplan
Sarah Khan
Max Lubell
Lucas Maiman
Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy
Jason Rowland
Anu Roy-Chaudhury
Ali Safawi
Sarah Salman
Kevin Sweitzer
Rebecca Tarnopol
Stephanie Trierweiler
Ashley Zhang
ISAIAH ZEAVIN-MOSS | COLUMN
Isaiah Zeavin-Moss can be reached
at izeavinm@umich.edu.
I
t’s gameday, and I walk
into a tailgate and am
immediately a beer —
a
substance
that
would shut down all
my internal organs
from just a sip. All
my
friends
have
pre-gamed the pre-
game, and I know
it’s just the security
guards and me who
are sober right now.
I love to dance and
have fun with my
friends, but I can’t
help but feel as if I
am missing out on something
so essential to the college
experience: drinking.
When I first arrived on
campus, I didn’t think my
allergy to alcohol would make
me stand out from my peers.
In high school, I had many
friends and many who drank,
but it didn’t affect me. I didn’t
think college would be any
different, and at first, it wasn’t.
The more and more I went
to parties, however, the more
I felt uncomfortable. I joined
a sorority, only to drop a week
later under the pressure of
alcohol-dominated activities I
could not keep up with. Being in
an environment where all social
gatherings
revolve
around
getting drunk and drinking
with your friends makes it hard
for me to feel safe.
Every club I have joined and
every organization I have been
a part of during my time at the
University of Michigan has
mentioned something about
working hard but “don’t worry,
we like to party too.” Great! Me
too! But not when it involves
projectile
vomit,
watching
people who literally cannot
stand up and emergency 911
calls when someone has had
too much.
As many of us know, and as
various studies have shown,
consumption of alcohol affects
one’s decision-making process.
Interestingly,
a
University
of Missouri study found that
most people are aware of the
decisions they make while
they are drunk, and even when
they’re making a mistake, but
they do not care as much that
they’re
making
a
mistake.
The more people choose to
drink during their crazy night
out, the more the negative
consequences will affect them
the next morning. They might
lose motivation to go to class,
fail an exam or get
into an argument
with a roommate.
The
atmosphere
surrounding
drinking on campus
inhibits
students
from
taking
care
of
their
bodies
and
convinces
them
they
won’t
have an enjoyable
experience without
a drink in hand. It
is astounding to recognize the
immense priority alcohol has
on this campus.
Why have we set such a
standard for college students to
be so pressured to binge-drink
a substance that can ultimately
kill any one of us, not just those
of us with an allergy? The high
pressure and stress that comes
along with being a student at the
University encourage students
to “crack a cold one with the
boys” when they are feeling
upset or having a shitty day.
Is that because they’re too
afraid to actually express their
feelings about their shitty day
and turn to alcohol instead? To
get their mind off something
that needs to be talked about?
Using alcohol as a way to
escape will only last so long
for drinkers. There will come
a point when they have to
face their problems for what
they are and have real-time
conversations about them.
Is the reason we have fun
on this campus just because
everyone is so stressed, and
we
think
binge
drinking
will solve all our problems?
I challenge everyone at this
University to take a look at
the standard social event that
they routinely attend, and try
to make it into something that
focuses on having fun by being
there, not just on the activity
they are doing.
I have faced the many
repercussions that come with
not partaking in the activity
everyone else seems to be
doing. My relationships with
the friends I felt closest to
at this University dissolved
because I wasn’t interested
in having beer spilled on my
body every time I went to a
fraternity party. The rampant
party culture that surrounds
this campus needs to change.
People should feel comfortable
to make the decision to not
drink and not be judged for
it. I have felt othered so many
times by choosing not to put a
poison in my body.
Don’t get me wrong — I enjoy
going to parties where everyone
drinks, but the priority our
campus
community
creates
through
a
binge-drinking
culture
promotes
the
idea
that you can’t have fun while
not drinking. The resulting
stigma discourages individuals
who are not comfortable with
drinking and they end up
staying in, instead of exploring
the incredible place we live,
having
a
good
time
and
meeting new people.
I have found the people I
enjoy going out with, I have
friends who care about me and
watch out for me at parties.
I truly believe we all need
friends looking out for us, and
I am so grateful for mine. But
until we remove the stigma
that promotes the notion that
you have to drink to have fun,
we eliminate opportunities for
nondrinkers to feel welcome
and included. You don’t have to
be “black-out” to have a good
time going out.
Michelle Phillips can be reached at
mphi@umich.edu.
Why have we set
such a standard
for college
students to be
so pressured to
binge drink a
substance that
can ultimately kill
any one of us, not
just those of us
with an allergy?
ISAIAH
ZEA
VIN-MOSS
NATALIE BROWN | NATALIE CAN BE REACHED AT NGBROWN@UMICH.EDU
— Makan Delrahim, top anti-trust regulator, speaking about the
AT&T-TimeWarner Cable merger lawsuit in an interview with
The New York Times
“
NOTABLE QUOTABLE
This merger would greatly harm
American consumers. It would
mean higher monthly television
bills and fewer of the new, emerging
innovative options that consumers
are beginning to enjoy. ”
MICHELLE
PHILLIPS
DESIGN BY MICHELLE PHILLIPS