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■~y 2—TheDaily'CpUegian Tuesday, May 2,1995 Editorial/Opinion Grandma's stories ^-inspire future storyteller Before you go to bed tonight, call your grandparents. When I was a kid, my grandma, Helen Keddie, would call us at least once a week. As she and my mom began saying good-bye, then slid into another conversation and said good-bye again, I would jump to her side with a7"Please, please, pleaift^so she'd hand the ' phone over to me. Grandma and I talked for a few minutes about spelling bees and TV shows. She always told me that I was a natural performer. She would have bet everything she owned on my success on, the silver screen after seeing a videotape of my breakdancing, or what she called the "Michael Jackson dance." Yfe then hung up for anothej six days. It was a weekly ritual; one that gradually subsided as the y'ears went on and I became,too "busy" to take a few minutes to shoot the breeze. Into my teens, my mom and grandma still held that weekly phone chat, It was different this time, though. Now, instead of telling her.of my latest adventures with the school newspaper or my plans to go to Fresno State, mom did it. Usually, my only contribution was," 'Tell grandma I said, Tii.' " Later, mom would tell me how proud grandma said she was of me. I hated hearing this because it reminded me of the sound of her voice on the phone and what it had meant to me; I had easily forgotten. It reminded me that I, like most my age, lost touch with that part of my childhood to make way for a social life or a part-time job. Grandma retold the same stories almost every time we talked. She had three that were particularly popular within our family rirde. Again and again, she educated us about what it was like to camp out in Golden Gate Park after the 1903 San Francisco earthquake. We knew "almost by heart, the one about her silent film acting debut. And, of course, there w as the infamous tale about how all the San Francisco businessmen would frequent her fruit juice stand during their lunch breaks. She was quite the flirt. As predictable as her tales became, we always looked forward to them with a sort of comic anticipation. For her, they were a method for escapism from her Burlingame apartment and later the dingy one room at my hometown's convalescent center. Those stories were her life; each as uniqueas was she. Once she moved into, the convalescent home, 1 realized that living out the remainder of such a colorful life irYa hospital was a disgrace. I made a special effort to visit her as oftenas I could. Each time, grandma would be lying in her bed or sitting in a wheelchair two feet away from her little, television She went from a sulk to an absolutely bright-eyed, beaming face whenJ came by unannounced. * Before I could get my greeting out, she would say something like, "Let me look at you! How tall are you now?" /She would constantly look at two framed pictures on her wall of jny cousin Bill and myself. "He's almost too tall, Stephen, but you're just right!" Who could resist? Ithirucshewasasexdtedtoseemeaslwastotalktoherasachild. It made me happy to knowthat distancing myself from her as a teen was now somehow justified. J was giving back what she rtad given me years earlier. >-^ One Friday afternoon about a year ago, I decided to drive home and surprise my family. The day before I left to come back to Fresno, ^ I stopped by grandma's room once again. Walking those now familiar halls and nodding to the same nurses, I was about to see my grandmother for the last time. . She was in rare form, talking about her tootnerard asking where my journalistic exploits were taking me. The days were obviously taking their toll on her. She had some close calls over the last few months, each of them a sign to prepare for the woist. Even though her voice was not quite as strong as I remembered and her attention occasionally drifted, she still had the same enthusiasm as when she . would deliver a knock-knock joke to her seven-year-old grandson. ., Shewashappy,andIriate<Jto]eave.Ikis8^ told her I would come back home soon. Walking out, I whispered, "I love you/' + She passed away the following week. • I find myself looking back on my short 21 years for my "grandpa stories." What have I done that will fill the ears of mygnuvlchikiren , time and time again? Will they someday joke with relatives about the-lOOth time, Grandpa Stephen relived his first day on the radio? Probably. I love to tell that story today, so God knows ! «viJl in 60 years. Whatever the story, I hope I tell it as well as did she, making an . event unique by never telling it the same way twice. Muslims hurt by stereotyping in Oklahoma City bombing The night of Aprill9wasa restless one for all of us be¬ cause of the tragic news of the bomb explosion in the Federal building in Oklahoma City The televisioivimages of chil¬ dren cloaked in blood has left behind emotional scars which will take a long time to heal. There was a sense df anger and indignation at the perpetrators of this dastardly crime and a sense of urgency to help and console the victims and their families of this tragedy. During this dark period of trial for all of us, some in the national media made unsub¬ stantiated accusations against certain religious groups. Mus¬ lims in this country have long felt the repercussions of such media reports, with a dramatic increase in hate crimes against them. However, the conse¬ quences of the media's eariy reports in the aftermath of this bombing were even more se¬ vere due to enormity of this tragedy. There were reports of events similar to this incident, to bombings of the World Trade Center and Buenos Aires. Reuters reported that the Your Name Here 3- IO Letters to the Editor c/o The Daily Collegian Keats Campus Building Mail Stop 42 Fresno, CA 93740-0042 E-mail; SLW02€hnondriancsufresno.edu J suspects rented their pickup truck from Dallas/Fort Worth Airport and were believed to be of Middle Eastern origin. It appears as though the media is desperately trying to link the criminals to Middle East, and consequently stereotype Mus¬ lims as terrorists. What can 5 million Mus¬ lims in this country, many of whom came to share the plu¬ ralistic beauty of this land, could have done to prevent this tragedy even if an accused happens to be a Muslim? There are fringe and radi¬ cal elements in every society and faith. Are we to label all Buddhists as terrorists for the recent deadly nerve gas attacks in Japan which have been blamed on a certain Buddhist group? By the same token, should we insinuate Chris¬ tianity for the terrorists attacks of IRA and David Koresh? I believe not While the media has por¬ trayed these radical groups as cults, the Muslims are stereo¬ typed for acts of individuals which have no place in Islam. Like all Americans, Mus¬ lims all over the country, in¬ cluding'Fresno, have been praying for the victims and their families. I hope that the media will exercise responsibility in re¬ porting such events because we live in an age where the words of the media can affect the lives of millions of inno¬ cent people. AliHyder Huntsville, Alabama Dllbert® by Scott Adams DOGBEPT5 TALK RADIO I'rA THE SrAARTEST CREATURE IN THE UNIVERSE AMD YOU ARE ALL D0LT5 TOOAY in TAKING CALLS - FRfJAA PEOPLE WHO THIN* THEY UNDERSTAND COfAPLEX 'ISSUES BECAUSE THEY CJATCH "CROSSFIRE* ON CNN V.SOCdHYNOTPtJT [fi^ ALL POOR PEOPLE IN ORPHANAGE-Sr Stop and smell the clams. Friday. A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT FROM YOUR FRIENDS AT THE DAILY COLLEGIAN. Col The Daily Collegian Cajjfornia State University, Fresno Staff Writers: Lea Alvey, Paulo Albuquerque, Adam Brady, David John Chavez, Brian R. Fsher, Admanne Go, Matt Hart, Lucy Her, Ken Koller, Belinda Lee, Maria Machuca, Drabger Martinez, David Mirhadl Erin Smith. I^«7IOC«ArHRRS:KENKOLI^ZMNlZAMLT000WARSHAW, Hadi Yazdanfanah. ^ - Advertising: Chris Baxter, Denne Claborn, David Fakhrl Nina Momban, Brad Wilson. AovExnsiNC: News: Editorial: Arts 6c Entertainment: Fax: 209/278^731 209/2782486 2897278J5732 209/2782556 209/2782679 Printed on Recycled Newsprint EorroR in Chief Managing Edttor: Photo Edttor: Sports Edttor: Entertainment: Advertising Manager: Shannon Wentworth Joe Rosato Jr Stevb R Fupmoto DougStolhand Shelly Silva Richard Nixon Production: Ken Roller & RustyRowon Business Manager: '' Jamie Wilcox f Copy Edttors: Chui Ming Anc Chrctine Malamanic Shelly Silva ^D"^Coflrr^bplWbh«lfty.tkimiw«kfar»dbytt*Kud«n«»o< CtUoni, Saw Un,vmity, Fiwno. OyMoi *pMMd ta T* Dmh, r.forWnfth«dd«ity.Tob< «dand*ouldMX«c«d2! r c ■. • '•_-•.. \ ■ • • ■ / £«a ■ * _\ • *
Object Description
Title | 1995_05 The Daily Collegian May 1995 |
Alternative Title | Daily Collegian (California State University, Fresno) |
Publisher | Associated Students of Fresno State, Fresno, Calif. |
Publication Date | 1995 |
Description | Daily (except weedends) during the school year. Microfilm. Palo Alto, Calif.: BMI Library Microfilms, 1986- microfilm reels; 35 mm. Vol.1, no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- |
Subject | California State University, Fresno -- Periodicals. |
Contributors | Associated Students of Fresno State. |
Coverage | Vol.1 no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- to present |
Format | Microfilm reels, 35 mm. |
Technical Information | Scanned at 600 dpi; TIFF; Microfilm ScanPro 2000 "E-image data" |
Language | eng |
Description
Title | May 2, 1995, Page 2 |
Alternative Title | Daily Collegian (California State University, Fresno) |
Publisher | Associated Students of Fresno State, Fresno, Calif. |
Publication Date | 1995 |
Description | Daily (except weedends) during the school year. Microfilm. Palo Alto, Calif.: BMI Library Microfilms, 1986- microfilm reels; 35 mm. Vol.1, no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- |
Subject | California State University, Fresno -- Periodicals. |
Contributors | Associated Students of Fresno State. |
Coverage | Vol.1 no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- to present |
Format | Microfilm reels, 35 mm. |
Technical Information | Scanned at 600 dpi; TIFF; Microfilm ScanPro 2000 "E-image data" |
Language | eng |
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■~y
2—TheDaily'CpUegian Tuesday, May 2,1995
Editorial/Opinion
Grandma's stories
^-inspire future storyteller
Before you go to bed tonight, call your grandparents.
When I was a kid, my grandma, Helen Keddie, would call us at
least once a week. As she and my mom began saying good-bye, then
slid into another conversation and said good-bye again, I would
jump to her side with a7"Please, please, pleaift^so she'd hand the
' phone over to me. Grandma and I talked for a few minutes about
spelling bees and TV shows. She always told me that I was a natural
performer. She would have bet everything she owned on my success
on, the silver screen after seeing a videotape of my breakdancing, or
what she called the "Michael Jackson dance."
Yfe then hung up for anothej six days. It was a weekly ritual; one
that gradually subsided as the y'ears went on and I became,too "busy"
to take a few minutes to shoot the breeze.
Into my teens, my mom and grandma still held that weekly
phone chat, It was different this time, though. Now, instead of telling
her.of my latest adventures with the school newspaper or my plans
to go to Fresno State, mom did it. Usually, my only contribution was,"
'Tell grandma I said, Tii.' "
Later, mom would tell me how proud grandma said she was of
me. I hated hearing this because it reminded me of the sound of her
voice on the phone and what it had meant to me; I had easily
forgotten. It reminded me that I, like most my age, lost touch with that
part of my childhood to make way for a social life or a part-time job.
Grandma retold the same stories almost every time we talked.
She had three that were particularly popular within our family rirde.
Again and again, she educated us about what it was like to camp out
in Golden Gate Park after the 1903 San Francisco earthquake. We
knew "almost by heart, the one about her silent film acting debut. And,
of course, there w as the infamous tale about how all the San Francisco
businessmen would frequent her fruit juice stand during their lunch
breaks. She was quite the flirt.
As predictable as her tales became, we always looked forward to
them with a sort of comic anticipation. For her, they were a method
for escapism from her Burlingame apartment and later the dingy one
room at my hometown's convalescent center. Those stories were her
life; each as uniqueas was she.
Once she moved into, the convalescent home, 1 realized that
living out the remainder of such a colorful life irYa hospital was a
disgrace. I made a special effort to visit her as oftenas I could. Each
time, grandma would be lying in her bed or sitting in a wheelchair
two feet away from her little, television She went from a sulk to an
absolutely bright-eyed, beaming face whenJ came by unannounced.
* Before I could get my greeting out, she would say something like,
"Let me look at you! How tall are you now?"
/She would constantly look at two framed pictures on her wall of
jny cousin Bill and myself. "He's almost too tall, Stephen, but you're
just right!" Who could resist?
Ithirucshewasasexdtedtoseemeaslwastotalktoherasachild.
It made me happy to knowthat distancing myself from her as a teen
was now somehow justified. J was giving back what she rtad given
me years earlier. >-^
One Friday afternoon about a year ago, I decided to drive home
and surprise my family. The day before I left to come back to Fresno,
^ I stopped by grandma's room once again. Walking those now
familiar halls and nodding to the same nurses, I was about to see my
grandmother for the last time.
. She was in rare form, talking about her tootnerard asking where
my journalistic exploits were taking me. The days were obviously
taking their toll on her. She had some close calls over the last few
months, each of them a sign to prepare for the woist. Even though her
voice was not quite as strong as I remembered and her attention
occasionally drifted, she still had the same enthusiasm as when she
. would deliver a knock-knock joke to her seven-year-old grandson.
., Shewashappy,andIriate |