You Owe Yourself to Everything

My grandmother tells me that we owe our lives to unknown beings and nonbeings. I would not be here without the vulture who lost the feather that cleared her mouth and throat when she was a sick child. I would not be here without that medicine man or without the herbs. We would not be here without our ancestors. The stories grandmother tells remind us to be grateful.

One evening under the kerosene lamp where we often gathered after dinner, my grandmother started to tell her heaven and hell stories. Then she got up and disappeared for a few minutes. She came back holding something that looked like a bundled rag. She called us all to gather around her.

Slowly she untied the rag and revealed something that glittered in the light. "Gold!” we shouted. We became very excited. My grandmother smiled to herself. I wondered what she was up to.

"This is my sweat and labor that I have saved for all of you. The money I saved to buy this gold was from my seasonal labor. After the harvest from our own farm, I sold our extra produce. I worked on other people’s farms. I didn't make much money, but what I made I rarely spent. A little became something after a while. To be a woman of my time you had to have a gold bracelet and a gold necklace to wear during special occasions. They were your credentials. They showed others how hard a worker you were and how well you managed your savings. The story of my life and my values are embedded firmly in this gold. I have a piece for everyone. Necklaces are for the boys and the bracelet is for the girl. I hope that when you wear them, you will not forget about your grandmother.”

I was grateful to her. But I did not want to admit it. Admitting it meant that I was also admitting I owed myself to my ancestors. Grandmother reminded us that we would never be able to pay them back without becoming a monk.

My grandmother turned to my brother. “When you turn twenty,” she said, “you must become a monk and let your parents and grandparents see your yellow robe. It’s an act that brings such great merit. An incomparable merit, above all. There is nothing comparable that you can do to show your gratitude.”

I asked, “So what can I do to give back to them? Can I be a nun?” Grandmother said no.

She said that being a nun would not bring such merit to my parents. “But you can take care of them when they are old. That way you can show them your gratitude.”

I felt disappointed. Becoming a nun was not good enough. It was not as good as becoming a monk. And I didn’t like the idea of taking care of my parents when they got old. It sounded like a lot of work to be a woman. I wanted to be a man so I could become a monk and give back to my parents that way. That sounded easier.

“I know that you feel that you are not her favorite,” my mother told me later. “Isn’t it understandable? She who never had a son would automatically fall in love with your brother.” Then she said, “My mother is a very tough-minded woman. Both of you are.”

[Next-to-last in a series of writings by Jip from 2001.]