Take the liquor out of its hiding place, put that fish bowl full of condoms back on your coffee table and throw those crisp, unused textbooks back in the closet where they belong. We've survived another Parents' Weekend!
It's the one weekend a year you have to convince your parents that they're spending their money wisely by sending you to Duke instead of that state school back home. "Sure Duke costs three times as much," you say, "but have you seen the Plaza misters?"
For many, the weekend is also a time of explanation. Finally your parents get to see what you've been up to when you say you've been studying all night long. Basically, it's a time to explain, "Yes Dad, this building with all the books is called Shooters."
Instead of my parents this weekend, I was lucky enough to get a visit from my 80-year-old Nana.
My Nana is the archetypal grandmother. Every time she sees me, she swears I've grown another foot. If you tried to gauge my height based solely on her comments, you would have guessed I was Brian Zoubek.
It is literally impossible to escape a visit from my Nana without eating and taking home more food than one could consume in a lifetime at the Marketplace. And just in case I should I ever arrive at her doorstep without warning, my Nana has converted her old 1960s nuclear fallout shelter into a storage facility for pecan pies.
It doesn't stop with food either. My Nana is so accommodating that she will actually offer me every item in her home. On my way out her door, she usually chimes in, "Take these paper towels. You're gonna need paper towels! Do you need another lamp for your apartment? Here, I don't use this one." And if you ever witnessed the way my Nana slips me money, you'd think she was bribing me to spend more time with her (which she probably was). When we hug, my Nana is smoother at planting a five-spot in my palm than Robert De Niro in "Goodfellas."
To sum up, my Nana is-quite literally-from a different time. I've learned that my hours spent with her are as close as the human race will ever come to time travel. Born 59 years before the invention of me, she speaks a completely different language. Rather than "classes" or "performances," she always asks me how my "lessons" or "programs" are going.
And over the course of the weekend I learned that Duke is not designed for Nanas.
It's startling to find out the limited number of activities available at Duke that don't involve alcohol. And that's in spite of the fact that some activities on campus have been created for the sole purpose of entertaining your parents. In fact, if it weren't for Parents' Weekend, the Lemur Center probably wouldn't exist.
After I'd taken Nana to see everything there is to see at Duke (read: the Chapel, Cameron Indoor and the Gardens), I tried to give her a feel for my Duke life. But at every turn I was met with confusion.
Granted, it took me three years to figure it out myself, but Nanas cannot grasp the idea of a public policy major. I ended up having to tell her I was majoring in "Government." Now I'm pretty sure she thinks I want to be president.
But everything this weekend paled in comparison to the dizzying confusion caused by Awaaz.
To preface, let me explain that my Nana was born and raised in Graham, N.C., and has probably never left the state for an appreciable time. She taught me how to be Southern, watch NASCAR and drink sweet tea. But until this weekend, the only Indian person my Nana had ever seen worked in a casino. When I asked her what her favorite part of the performance was, she responded, "I liked the dancing part."
Above all else, I realized this weekend that my Nana is extremely proud of me. I don't think there's a person in her town that doesn't know she has a grandson that attends Duke University. She tells people about me like it's attached to her name. "Hi, I'm Ruby. My grandson goes to Duke" to which they usually respond, "Yes ma'am, paper or plastic?"
So whether you spent it with your Nana or your parents, Parents' Weekend can be a stressful time. More than convincing our families that Duke is a good investment, we spend much of our time here worrying how to make our families and our parents proud of us. But if there's anything my Nana has taught me, it's that they probably already are.
ZACH BRAFF and Brandon Curl dedicate this column, in loving memory, to their "Nana," Ruby Duke Curl.
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