Optimism

I did not grow up in a nuclear family; in addition to my mother, my father, my sister and me, there was my grandmother, Lydia. Oftentimes, throughout my nights in grade school, I would wake up to the hacks of my grandmother’s coughs. Suffering from throat cancer, her coughing episodes could go on for hours and would keep us awake. During the day, her constant want of Tylenol and persistent wheezing only further reminded me of the great burden that throat cancer posed for my grandmother.

A lot of people who saw my grandmother—uneducated, dying from throat cancer and fully dependent upon her daughter—felt only pity for her. Friends would ask me if she was happy the way she passed through her days just coughing, if she ever worried that she was not receiving the best treatment for her cancer or if she was cognizant of her lack of independnce.

My friends’ questions express the same false image of “success” that permeates our Exeter bubble. It propogates the belief that satisfaction is reserved for those who succeed at high-pressure careers, act as independent pillar of financial support for their loved ones and will have a list of prestigious awards and honors enumerated at their funeral.

My grandmother constantly wore a smile upon her face, always praised God for her wonderful life and was never embittered by her circumstances. In fact, Lydia exerted a satisfaction and happiness over her life that I still have yet to witness in a person of my generation.

Lydia lived a life of adventure. When she heard that my mother was pregnant with me and without money for a babysitter, she made the bold decision to leave Ghana, her world for the past 72 years, and move to America. Here, she knew no one but my family, had no idea how to speak English and had zero familiarity with the amenities of First World life. She would often stare in amazement as my sisters and I used the remote to control the TV, and laughed about how we all spoke and lived our lives too hastily.

If my grandmother did not find success through her serenity, then she did through her resourcefulness. She was able to take anything life gave her and make the best out of it. Though she started off with just her family, she made a constant effort to befriend her neighbors and members of the local church. Using her hands to express herself, she would ask them about their lives and ask if they ever needed help with anything. People gained such a striking fondness for her that they would come to our house just for her, and would make matching hand gestures to facilitate conversation. On her last Sunday in America, our church congregation based the enitre sermon on her memory and how remarkable of a woman she was. Lydia glowed on that day.

While my grandmother was herself not educated, she inspired knowledge in me and my sisters. After we got back home from school and my parents were still at work, it was our grandmother who compelled us to do our homework before we played. Even though she herself had no understanding of anything we did, she still watched us for hours as we scribbled what must of been nonsense to her onto sheets of. Lydia urged us endlessly toward what she herself never gained.

More than anything, my grandmother excelled in being an optimist. The doctors diagnosed her with throat cancer early on during her stay in America. There would be months where it was too difficult for her to swallow hard, big foods, so she made a habit out of juicing and babying the dishes that my mother prepared. In the face of undeniable adversity, she still laughed, smiled and loved. While she was amazed at how we navigated through our fast lives of technology and instant news, I still find it hard to grasp her joy and am grateful to have known such a contented person.

So, thank you, Grandma. Here at Exeter, I sometimes feel as though I need to recieve a specific mark or result in order to feel good about myself, but in those moments, I reflect upon what you taught me: that success comes to those who make the best of their situations. You had a remarkable time in America—and in life—and I hope that I, and my peers, can one day be as familiar with true happiness as you were.