GRANDMA

I was sitting at the dinner table at my dad’s house when completely out of the blue my grandma says to me, “You think black people are so great.”

Say what you will, that woman knew how to start a conversation.

“What are you talking about, Grandma?”

“You think black people are so wonderful, why are most of the people in prison black?”

“Great question, Grandma. I’m sure it has nothing to do with them still living in the racist system that enslaved their grandparents, and that continues to oppress them in myriad ways.”

“Oh, I’m so tired of hearing about slavery.”

“Yeah, that must be hard for you.”

We went on like this for a minute, threatening to derail another peaceful Jensen family dinner, not an unusual occurrence at all. My dad interrupted.

“Mom! Mom!” he cut her off midrant. “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

She looked at him incredulously, like he was the biggest idiot she’d ever met and then she answered him with a heavy tone of exasperation at being asked such an obvious question. “The chicken.”

Dad looked at me, eyebrows raised, and I got his point. She was ambiguity aversion personified. The world was simple, and easy to understand, and she got it, and idiots like me did not.

I went back to enjoying my dinner.