What my Grandmother knew.
And What We’re Still Learning
What my Grandmother knew.
Let’s face it. The world is a shitshow right now.
I spend too much time doom scrolling and reading about rolling-over. I’m re-educating myself on the historical power of social movements and how they rise… and sometimes fall. I’m reminding myself to breathe (there’s an app!) and getting a dopamine hit when something bad happens to a Tesla. Yep, my life is a shitshow.
All of this has gotten me thinking about my grandmother.
She was born in March of 1918, during the flu epidemic. No vaccines meant quarantines and isolation. Back then, pharmaceutical companies and scientists were actually working to find a vaccine. Now, from our HHS Secretary, it’s cod liver oil for measles. I guess we haven’t come that far.
My grandmother was named after two young women who popped in daily to see what my great-grandmother needed. She honored them by giving my grandmother their names.
My great-grandmother, Ora, was educated – which in 1918 was something. At that time, only about 5% of white women had obtained a degree. She was a teacher, years away from a time when Eisenhower would elevate education to a cabinet position. But she understood the value of public education and in 1939, my grandmother graduated with a Bachelor of Science in the division of Home Economics. Her curriculum? Household equipment. Based on the names in the Graduation Exercise program, not one man graduated with a degree in Home Economics. The Ruth’s and Betty’s and the Mable’s did. There isn’t one woman listed in the division of Engineering.
So — what does one do with a degree in Household Equipment? My grandmother must have asked herself that same question. She was wildly intelligent. She would have made one hell of an engineer.
For my grandmother, her degree meant moving to a small Kansas town and getting a job with the local gas company. She would go into the homes of newly married women and teach them how to cook on their gas stoves – the equipment part, I guess. My grandmother and I never talked about this part of her working life. By the time I came along, she made nutritious meals when we visited, encouraged us to eat our vegetables, and managed the household – all remnants of the home ec part of her degree, I presume.
She met my grandfather, the “most eligible bachelor in town,” as proclaimed by the local newspaper. He was ten years her senior and they married quietly, in a ceremony in her parents' living room in 1940. She had recently told her employer about her upcoming marriage, and they told her that as a married woman, she would no longer be employed by them. Married women were not allowed to work for the company.
When my grandmother became a Mrs., she had no assets. Everything was held by my grandfather. Once, she saw a ring she really wanted. My grandfather said no, he wouldn’t purchase it for her. I guess her household management skills paid off, because she found a way to buy it herself. I still have that ring.
My grandmother was born before the passage of the 19th Amendment. She chose her college degree based on the limited options available to women at the time. She was fired from a job because of her marital status. She was denied access to credit because she was married.
But over the course of her life, things got better for her, and for a lot of women. Women were able to make huge strides – often because laws were enacted and ratified by the government, giving women access to credit, access to education, access to healthcare, access to equality in the workplace, access to the voting booth. It wasn’t always sunshine and roses, I know, but the reality was that the momentum seemed to be mostly moving forward.
My grandmother was a lifelong Republican. But at the age of ninety, she voted for Obama. She believed in being fiscally conservative. She believed in the power of public education. She believed in the inherent goodness of America and the importance of helping neighbors, making sure children had enough to eat, and being kind. She and my grandfather gave back to their community. They accumulated modest wealth and, instead of passing it down, chose to endow educational scholarships and help others in need.
My grandmother was 94 when she passed. I’m 61. I’ve probably lived two-thirds of my life already. My life has been filled with opportunities. And it’s taken me a long time to realize that I am the product of the women who came before me — the ones who suffered but persevered.
For most of my life, I believed that, like my grandmother’s generation, things would keep improving. That we would always be moving forward. That progress would continue for the ones who come after us.
I’m not sure I believe it anymore.
In 1940, FDR gave a powerful fireside chat about national security. He warned that “American citizens, many in high places… are doing exactly the kind of work that the dictators want done in the United States.” I wonder if my grandmother turned on her radio that night and listened to FDR. I wonder if she was afraid for her country.
I know I am.
My grandmother’s generation endured uncertainty too. But they pushed forward. And maybe that’s the lesson I need to remember right now.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about legacy lately; what we inherit, what we build, and what we leave behind. That’s part of why I’m launching this space on Substack.
I’m starting this space because I need a place to work through these thoughts, to reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re headed. The world feels heavy right now, but writing helps me make sense of it. Maybe it’ll help you too. I hope you’ll join me.
Here’s what you can expect:
I’m aiming to post weekly — sometimes personal, sometimes political (because really, what isn’t?). The schedule might not be exact, but I’ll do my best to keep it consistent.
Free subscribers will get access to most of my writing, updates, and thoughts.
Paid subscribers will get one extra post a month (for now) and the chance to engage more directly in the conversation as I build this community out.
Thank you for being here.
Megan
