why be feminine?

A friend told me he had a question about femininity, and he asked me:

why does it matter to you? that you need to be feminine that is? OR better phrased why do you want to be feminine?

I hadn't thought to ask, but it was something I needed to think about. Here's what I've got:

Short answer: because I think too much. I want to know everything about people, and the differences between men and women fascinate me.

I felt like I was too much and not enough at the same time. I dressed sloppily but spent far too much time getting ready. I was willing to be helpful but not physically strong enough be any help. I hated shopping but owned too many things. I talked too much but didn't speak up when I ought. I cared too much about how my room looked but it was too messy. I couldn't merely balance on the fence because I'd already fallen off both sides of the fence. I couldn't keep up with my guy-friends because I was a woman, and I couldn't keep up with my girl-friends because I was trying to keep up with my guy-friends.

Short answer: being a guy wasn't working, and I didn't want to be a failure.

Last year, new to Hillsdale, I was a sucker for chivalry: open doors, carry books, anything. Chivalry said two things to me:

1. "I'm strong enough to keep you safe if something were to happen, and I care about you enough that I'm willing to."
2. "You're a woman, not a man, and that's exactly as it should be."

People at Hillsdale understood that men and women are different, and that it wasn't a better/worse difference. Here, I could find an answer.

I decided to stop trying to be a man, but I needed some sort of direction, somewhere to go. I was lost. Nobody writes anything like If for women. Sure, there's Proverbs 31, but I'm not a wife and probably won't be one for a while. And there has to be something to "woman" other than "wife"--otherwise maidens and widows and nuns are worthless.

But I didn't want to knit, shop, wear makeup, sew, wear skirts, fuss about how I look, be "cute," jabber on the phone, etc.

And I didn't want to give up what I love: football, climbing, strength, euchre, outside, tennis shoes, basketball, Tapico, etc. I spit, occasionally. And I want to fight.

Short answer: could I do that and still be a woman?

I was at a talk one Thursday where the (male) speaker said that what women want most from men is affirmation, and everyone nodded in blind agreement. I fumed. Why must "woman" always take a dative?

But it was affirmation I was seeking. I needed someone to tell me: it's a good thing that you want to be beautiful; you are beautiful. I needed someone to come find me and convince me I didn't need to hide. I needed to relax and think of other people instead of analyzing the masculinity or femininity of my actions. I needed to stop trying to prove that I was as fast and strong and ignorant of physical pain and competent at throwing a football as any of my guy-friends (because, as much as I tried, I wasn't).

Short answer: I was trying and failing at being a man. And of course I should fail at this: I'm a woman. But I fail at knitting and shopping as well. Must failure at knitting and shopping necessarily be directly proportional to failure as a woman?

Short answer: Because I didn't want to knit and I didn't want to fail.

In addition to this, I kept hearing that abortion is an offense against women. But why? That question was not satisfactorily answered. Women are nurturers and lifegivers--but I wanted to pummel someone. I wanted to throw someone behind me and fight for them. Women are mothers--but I'm not pregnant and don't plan on giving birth until at least nine months after I marry.

I don't understand women, or anyway, didn't. I'm getting better at it. It was (and still is, though to a lesser extent) incomprehensible to me how people could enjoy shoe shopping. And I looked down my nose at women who went climbing and played football, because look at them, they're just trying to be masculine. For some reason, I felt more compelled to out-strength, out-throw, out-virtus, out-dignitas these "masculine" women than to keep up with men. (Pride, anyone?)

Short answer: I needed to learn how to be feminine so that I might be humble.

I remember once catching myself in the middle of a Rosary, realizing I was praying to a woman, and I sobbed.

Short answer: I needed to learn how to be feminine so that I might be holy.

I'd pretty much given up on having close woman-friends because most women didn't enjoy anything I was interested in, and if they did, I felt threatened.

Short answer: I need woman-friends. Some things you just can't talk about in mixed company.

Here's an analogy I've often found helpful: a woman is like an ocean, beautiful and terrifying. And a man can admire from a distance, wade in a bit, sit on the dock with his feet in the water--but we want to be pursued. We want men to dive in and explore, not sit with his feet awkwardly in the water, afraid to jump in because he sees shark fins wandering about.

Here's what this means practically: men complain all the time that women hint at what they want instead of telling directly; women complain equally (though probably with far more words) that men don't pick up on their hints. Women don't really want men to read our minds; we want men to scour our facebook profiles, remember our passing comments, pay attention to us, and at the very least talk to our woman-friends to find out what we want. Trying and not getting it quite right is far better than not trying at all.

But fallen women forget about God and expect fallen men to do this perfectly. Therein lies the problem.

Some oceans know their beauty but fear that they won't be pursued, so they give up the chase and let the reward come too easily--and are then called s--ts and w----s and b----es.

Some oceans don't know their beauty and are afraid that pursuit will end in disappointment. They hide their beauty by keeping away from everyone or dressing sloppily or letting the sharks breed out of control. They put up defenses so they cannot be pursued.

Some oceans know they are loved totally and completely by God. They know he will always pursue them and that they are beautiful and that his pursuit will be well-rewarded. These oceans are fallen women, too--we all are, except for her--and they can enjoy compliments and pursuit from fallen men, but they don't rely on fallen men. They rely on God, who actually can and does follow through all the time.

Knitting and shoe shopping and jabbering on the phone are irrelevant to femininity. And that was my most important discovery.

why does it matter to you? that you need to be feminine that is? OR better phrased why do you want to be feminine?

Short answer: permission and freedom to be who I am.

Thanks for asking.

happy thanksgiving

I have received into my heart Jesus Christ, His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity. I begin this day as a day in Heaven. He is in my soul the Divine Infant in the crib, the growing Boy at Nazareth, the Apostle acclaimed by crowds on the roads of Galilee, the Miracle-Worker Who performed such prodigies, the Martyr Who completed His Sacrifice on Calvary.

And now, O good Master, what shall I give Thee in exchange for Thy visit...?

I would like to pray to Thee with the burning words of Thy Mother and her court of Heaven, but I feel riveted to earthly things...

I would like to offer Thee courageous loyalty to my Baptismal Vows and Confirmation Graces but alas, I have so often been disloyal...

I would like, at least, to have a desire for the Christian life, but I allow myself to be discouraged by my failures...

O good Jesus, I have nothing to give Thee, and Thou hast given Everything; Thou hast given Thyself to me. I can only join my poor voice in the chorus of praise to Thee, rising out of all the works of Thy Creation here on earth...

With the fifteen hundred millions now living on earth, I shall praise Thy Mercy! May our voices unite with the billions of those who inhabited the earth before us, and out of whose dust the beauty of Nature perpetually rises to praise Thy Glory!

May an infinite concert of voices from cottages and palaces, from fields and forests, from towns and deserts, from workshops and cathedrals, from earth and from heaven, from time and from eternity arise to give my thanks unto Thee!


from my grandfather's WWII Navy missal, nihil obstat & imprimatur Jan. 6, 1938

what makes me smile

Last year I started a list of things that make me happy, and I've been updating it periodically. When I'm stressed over a paper, reading through the list calms me down. (I recommend this.)

I've been asked several times if there's an accompanying list of things that really bug me. I've been tempted to make one, and some of then have started to creep into this list (see #1, #40, #41, and #90). I haven't made one for three reasons: first, it wouldn't be good for me; second, it would serve no purpose; third, I think a lot of people would find it funny to go through the list and annoy me as much as possible ("you look so cute, Pet-Rides!").

So here are 156 things that make me smile, 156 things for which I'm thankful, 156 blessings I've counted thus far, 156 reasons beyond the ordinary big ones that I know God loves me.

(maybe take a look at #87)


1. wildflowers, flowers in the ground where they belong, especially when they’re not in a garden. wild geraniums. bloodroot. trillium. jack-in-the-pulpit. siberian squill. violets. crocuses. snowdrops. daisies. indian paintbrush.
2. my grandma’s big blue Croatian eyes, and any hint that I have them
3. the scent inside wintergreen leaves
4. the smell of incense and chrism
5. the story of Judith
6. having the immediate family all together in the same place
7. euchre
8. snow
9. Uncle Joe’s cabin
10. the B.C. Bar
11. campfires
12. canoeing on Grass Lake
13. seeing people smile, hearing people laugh, knowing that people are happy
14. live theater
15. violin music, played well
16. the intercession of Sts. Anthony and Michael
17. when the first-graders sing the refrain to “Canticle of the Sun”
18. honesty
19. sunrises
20. good nature photography
21. the pin oak that holds its leaves tenaciously until mid-April
22. big chairs that are just the right size to curl up in
23. the brown chair in the basement
24. Emily’s adamant denial of her suth’n twaang
25. comfortable jeans
26. hoodies
27. getting clothes from Emily
28. hot chocolate
29. wool socks
30. white pines
31. ferns
32. deer
33. the misshapen white pine in the meadow at the cabin
34. languages
35. how language and psychology connect
36. hearing people talk about what they love, even if I’m not that interested
37. football
38. UM football
39. Tony Smela’s grin that graces every camera he finds (“graces” is stretching it…)
40. dogs, but not the small puny ones you can punt across the room
41. practical jokes, but only if they’re more funny than annoying
42. marching bands
43. backaches after shoveling snow
44. the blue-purple dark in early evening on fresh snow
45. the dull ache of soreness that means muscles are getting stronger
46. Polaris water
47. random phrases in other languages
48. large quantities of boring black and blue pens
49. the Mackinac bridge
50. George’s Russian hat
51. messages on my dry-erase board
52. actually, messages almost anywhere
53. epic similes/metaphors
54. Fox in Socks and tweedle beetles
55. all the dents, nicks, chips, etc. in our crèche
56. Maple Leaf Rag
57. Cheese Broccoli (the song)
58. when people ask so I can answer “with silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row”
59. etymological discoveries
60. when men love Mary (mother of God)
61. jokes that make me feel smart
62. Roget. Words. Good words.
63. Dr. Burke humor.
64. olive oil on focaccia bread
65. playing football in the snow
66. making fun of Tony Bosak (but endearingly)
67. treehouse #7
68. climbing. rappelling. the pretty rope.
69. the smell of fresh dirt.
70. rhythmic poetry. “The Bells.” “Annabel Lee.”
71. Wheat Chex with honey
72. when I’m sleeping or pretending to sleep or trying to sleep and someone comes over and puts a blanket or coat or something on me
73. asparagus ferns
74. wearing other people’s clothing, but usually only if it belongs to a sibling, because otherwise it’s kind of weird
75. the awesome blue hat Amanda made
76. Kennedy, Calvin, and George: “hammerzeit”
77. Tony hugs (Tony Smela)
78. getting lost in dictionaries
79. when people tell me something that they know I’ll find interesting
80. gory crucifixes
81. when the etymology of a word turns out to be awesome
82. Thai lessons from Garrett
83. when men respect women for being women and not just for being people
84. Grimms’ Tales
85. puns
86. finding out I don’t have as much work to do as I thought I did
87. after it rains, the maple footprints on cement
88. Mu Alpha hats
89. chocolate scotcheroos
90. Petrides pronounced correctly
91. Grandpa’s “muskatelli” and Uncle Leo’s “mostacowie” for “mostaccioli”
92. Uncle Leo’s “Mark two!” and “passage” and slamming the cards on the table playing euchre
93. leafless trees silhouetted against a sunrise or sunset
94. clear blue winter skies over fresh snow
95. Bubble Bobble
96. fires, contained: a candle, a fireplace, a firepit
97. feeling warm sun
98. giant dictionaries in libraries
99. the smell of cedar
100. the smell of distant fast food during winter
101. making Calvin lose the game
102. bells
103. the clinking sound of Rosaries coming out
104. usually the last thing Seamus says before someone yells at him to shut up
105. the electric excitement of a thunderstorm
106. the electric excitement of the first snow
107. the smell of new t-shirts
108. integritive
109. the sound of water hitting the leaves of houseplants
110. the smell of coffee
111. the intercession of St. Thomas Aquinas
112. pilfering in good fun
113. ashes
114. George singing/humming Celtic songs
115. when people ask me what “velleity” means, then are too lazy to go look it up
116. Seth with ice cream in a waffle cone
117. rotating smileys on gmail chat
118. the sizzling sound of PAAS egg dye and the accompanying scent of vinegar
119. the Greek egg-cracking game
120. the clinking of censer and chain
121. dressing up in clothing several times my size, especially shoes
122. homemade chocolate chip cookies
123. cookie dough
124. ultimate Frisbee
125. the smell of freshly-cut grass
126. bird songs
127. Georgia whistling
128. Nathan’s Kat
129. Brandon’s injuries
130. sailing
131. Jason’s courtesy
132. sleeping in the boathouse
133. friendship: Kennedy and Calvin. Andrew and Evan. Sam and Ian.
134. scoutcraft fires
135. eco-con fires
136. pyrodex
137. the esophagal warmth from drinking hot chocolate in the cold
138. Jason’s “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am” and “aye aye ma’am”
139. wind through my hair
140. Red Wings hockey
141. useful, efficient, and sturdy knots and lashings, especially the mooring hitch
142. stained glass windows
143. Marine recruiters
144. Marines in blues
145. waffles
146. after a day of hard (physical) work, falling asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow
147. sleeping on the floor
148. Scottish dancing
149. swing dancing
150. Chevy trucks, especially the ones at camp
151. up north
152. lead army men
153. swimming where the fish pee
154. sunrises
155. Jeff’s hick-speek
156. Jason’s footprints all over campus

because I wasted so much time whining today

Of course


he loves me.

...


Who'm I kidding?

I know he wants me to love him: he pursues me relentlessly. He isn't afraid of me, doesn't sit there with his feet dangling in the water like I'm too much for him, but dives in and knows everything about me. He listens when I talk to him or at him--he pays attention and learns what's buried, hidden deep inside my heart.

He created me beautiful but I was conceived deformed, tainted, diseased with a fetish for getting myself into trouble. He never tires of saving me from the stupid nonsense I get myself into. He forgives me when I ask him to.

And ultimately it came to this: he heard a threat that we would be apart for all of eternity, so he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave and becoming like us in all ways (except sin)--and how glorious! His mercy stood between me and death, stood separating me from death, and he destroyed the one who threatened me. He risked his life for my sake--and he died.

I wept until I had emptied myself, wept knowing I was empty of any way to repay him, wept for my sheer unworthiness of this total, self-emptying love. Wept that I had not made amends for the last few times I denied him. Wept that I had failed him so many times and he fulfilled what I would not have dared to ask him.

Water flowed from my eyes and from his side. Blood splashed on the ground, washing me, making me clean. Whole. Glorious.

I felt a hand on my cheek and a thumb gently wiping my tears. The fingers under my chin strengthened and lifted it up. I raised my eyes and looked up through the warm tears that clung to my eyelashes. I saw him. Alive. He had survived death. He had died so that I could live and he came out alive.

He helped me to my feet and I laid my head against his chest. The strength of his arms surrounded me and I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of burial perfumes. And there I rested. Safe.

addendum

to: success, gratia Dei

I looked at the comments and realized I needed to clarify a few things:

“Why must ‘woman’ always take a dative?”
Proverbs 31 is great, except I’m not a wife. I think I’ve done a decent job at being a good daughter, a good sister, a good friend. Probably my parents and siblings and friends are the best judge of that, respectively, but I think it’s fair to say that I haven’t done a horrible job. But I wanted to learn how to be a good woman.

I suspected C&A was right about X being especially feminine because C&A has always struck me as very masculine (he doesn’t play football, by the way). C&A has a good head on his shoulders and I can pretty much trust what he says.

As far as I know I’m not boyfriend-hunting. I don’t think I am.

I’ve been talking about this to anyone who will listen, and even some people who won’t. And I’ve been looking for common threads and things like--what do prostitutes, homeless women, rich “daddy’s money” women, woman athletes, women who knit, fairy tale women, women in literature, nuns, mothers, etc. all have in common? because that’s something that’s probably ontologically true of women.

Anonymous, you wrote that Augustine and the Bible “very clearly state many such things.” If you happen to look back here and you can point me in a more specific direction, that would be wonderful.

Femininity is not merely in the eye of the beholder. I don’t know if you can really define it, but it’s definitely not merely in the eye of the beholder. “God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them” (Gen. 1:27). God made us as men or as women.

Now, a man might think “I love women who are athletes” and another man might think “I love women who cook.” Of course different men are going to look for different things in women. But it isn’t the man’s eye that makes the woman feminine--it’s how much she knows she is loved. And the only love we can rely on 100% is God’s love. Even wonderful men fail occasionally. So we have to lean on Christ--as I heard on the radio, lean on Him so far that if he weren’t there, you would fall over.

(For the sake of fairness and accuracy, I’ll include that the reverse is also true: different women like different men, but it isn’t the woman’s eye that makes the man manly. The only love anyone can rely on 100% is God’s love, and even wonderful women fail occasionally.)

You do need to jump outside the box and go on adventures and learn something new--it seems cowardly to me to live a completely safe life. (“Well, if I wanted to have a safe life, I guess I wouldn’t have married a man who studies rocks.” --Betty Armstrong, “The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra”) But whatever risks you take, whatever adventures you go on, however many dirt bikes you crash, wherever your grandpa’s jeep or your plane tickets take you, remember this: you are a warrior princess, one who totally and completely captivates your Savior. Strong. Fierce. Loyal. Kind. Beautiful. Captivating.

Judith is my hero.

happy veterans day

I had planned on doing my laundry and taking a nap after lunch (no class until 2:30 and little sleep the night before), but the Marine recruiters were here today. Two of them in charlies, one of them I recognized. I called my grandpa and Mike to wish them a happy veterans day. I sat in AJ's reading Pearl and Chase & Phillips.

The one I recognized came over after a bit and said hello, how are you, asked why I didn't come over and say hello. "Is it because Louis isn't here?" Well, no, it wasn't. We chatted for a short while but not about anything important. He saw my mile swim patch and said he wasn't sure he could swim a mile. I told him it took me an hour and a half and I fell down trying to stand up at the end, and if you ask me to run a mile I couldn't do it.

Nothing exciting. They're cool guys, though.

Let the record show that Mary doesn't actually have a crush on the Marine recruiters.

I called David T. and had a really awkward conversation.
--Hello?
--Hi, David T.?
--Yes.
--This is Mary Petrides from camp. I just wanted to say happy veterans day.
--Pardon?
--This is Mary Petrides from Tapico.
--Okay.?
--I just wanted to say happy veterans day.
--Thank you.
--You're welcome.
(awkward pause)
--Thank you. (awkward pause) Bye.
--Bye.

success, gratia Dei

I'm not sure if these people really want their names used, so I'm going to encode them. If they want to disclose their identity, they are welcome to do so.

My quest: to figure out how to be a good woman. to figure out what it means to be a good woman. to figure out what femininity is.

C&A kept telling me if I want to figure it out, I have to talk to women about it. He kept getting frustrated, because I kept asking him and probably wasn't listening nearly as well as I thought I was. I told him I didn't really have any woman friends I could really talk to about this because it was so much easier to hang out with guys, so that's what I did mostly. He pointed me to X, and told me I should talk to her. She, he said, understood femininity very well.

I don't know what it was, but there was a barrier. I couldn't talk to X without cringing and feeling like a failure. I kept trying, and C&A couldn't understand what the barrier was. And I couldn't explain it to him, because I didn't understand it either.

BYM and I would talk at length about masculinity and femininity. I learned more from these discussions than anywhere else, as far as I know. We'd discuss things like: I love football and I want to be strong; can I be feminine and still do that? Do I have to sew and crochet and enjoy shopping in order to be feminine? And we would conclude things like: men who lift weights every day because they have to prove their manliness seem like wusses compared to men who are confident in their manliness but maybe not as physically strong. Similarly, women who smear on layers of makeup in order to be beautiful seem ugly compared to women who are confident in their own beauty but maybe not as beautiful.

I told BYM that I predicted X and JF would be the next couple, but he wasn't so sure.

He said she was taking on the role of little sister because that's what JF needed.

C&A pursued her quite a bit last year--it was kind of obvious even if I hadn't overheard what I did. Someone described her as "darn careful." They didn't date, as far as I know.

I went to dinner and watched people, including X, JF, and one or two dating couples. Something clicked. I went to adoration at St. Anthony's after dinner and started writing. About 7:30, something else clicked.

It really is an issue of confidence, but it isn't self-confidence.

BYM was right: if you're going to be fully masculine or fully feminine, you kind of have to let it happen accidentally. And if you're confident, you aren't going to be artificially manipulating your behavior.

C&A found X so completely feminine because she had this confidence. I wouldn't call it confidence, though--it's very gentle. Not wishy-washy, though. And not necessarily quiet, but definitely not obnoxious.

I can't see her fighting. I can't see her cowering. If she were attacked, I don't know what she'd do. I can't see her afraid. She'd probably try to get away as best she could, but she'd probably be killed. And if she weren't, she'd go back and make sure the guy who attacked her is okay. She wouldn't have to forgive him because she wouldn't be offended.

I remember when I was little (you hush. I've grown some.), my mom told me that God is King and Father. I remember doing the math in my head, and when I had it all sorted out, I asked her if that made me a princess. And she said yes. I was utterly delighted.

But it's something I've forgotten.

MC tells me about CM, a girl who drops her 5-inch skirt any chance she gets. MC tells me she keeps asking him to come see her, but he doesn't want to go. She'll ploy him into having sex with her, and he wants to date a girl who will at least make him work to have sex with her. I had no problem identifying and explaining the problem. CM had no self-confidence, or anyway very little. Women want to be pursued, but she didn't think she was worth pursuing or didn't think any man would pursue her. So she gave up the chase and let herself be caught--and if no one would catch her, she would jump into their hands and hold on with the grip as strong as a two-year-old's.

I think I did the same thing with MCS last year, though not to the same extent. I was boyfriend-hunting, to an extent, though not entirely consciously. Part of it was that I was pretty sure I had a religious vocation but priests kept telling me to date, so I figured I'd have a boyfriend in college then after I graduate go find an order. (Fr. Bob always tells me that the best way to make God laugh is to make plans.) Part of it is something I think all, or anyway most, freshmen go through: you're thrown into a huge group of people you've never met, and maybe one of them...

But I wanted to be pursued, and I was afraid that I wouldn't be. And how do you "be pursued" anyway? You don't do anything. So I made it easy. And I ignored red flags and made it too easy. The whole thing was entirely chaste, physically speaking: there was no sex, there was no uncovering or touching certain body parts. But I got him to ask me out.

X didn't do that. Here's the thing about her: she has her focus right. She knows she's a princess, knows she's loved utterly and completely by God, knows she's totally captivating, knows she's beautiful. She knows it as well as she knows that her shoes are on the right feet--she doesn't have to think about it.

That's what it means to be feminine.

To know that you're a princess. That you're totally captivating. That you're loved, fully, completely, unconditionally. To know that He will chase after you as long as you keep running, and when He catches you He will never let you go. To know that you are totally and completely safe with Him.

To know it the same way that you know to put toothpaste on your toothbrush before you stick it in your mouth. To know it better than the back of your hand. To know it so well you don't have to think about it. To know it so well that it doesn't bother you that other people do it well--that maybe it bothers you that other people don't know it well and you want to show them.

To keep your focus on Him because He will never fail you. Will never betray your trust. Will never lose strength. Will always defend and protect you. Will always find you completely beautiful. Will always find you captivating. Will always pursue you. Will never let you go.

Will set you free.

[addendum]

halloween costume

Dear Rushka, who are you?

Who was your hero when you were a boy?

What color are the walls in your bedroom?

Were you one of the cool kids in kindergarten, or did your classmates make fun of you? What did they make fun of you for?

Did you live with both your parents? Do you remember the day they divorced, or the day one of them died?

What were you doing when you first felt your voice crack?

How many siblings did you have? Who was your best friend?

What was your Halloween costume in seventh grade?

Did you play football? Were you cut from the basketball team? Did you quit the cross country team your senior year?

Why?

What kind of music made you dance inside?

Did you ever look at a sunset and long to be part of it?

What did you eat for your last meal at home?

Did you go to college? What did you do on weekends? What did you major in? What fascinated you?

Why the Marines?

How old were you when you left for basic? What did you miss most about home?

What were you thinking the first time you stepped into your uniform? Is your name spelled right on the back pocket?

Did you ever think it would hang in someone’s garage for four dollars amid the hammers and knick knacks and doilies they cleaned out before they moved?

What happened on your first birthday as a Marine? Did you have a girlfriend? Did she write?

How did you make her smile the last time you saw her?

Where you afraid when you went overseas? Were you brave, too?

Did you find a way to laugh sometimes? Did you ever feel your heart rip out of your chest? Did you cry? Were you strong, too?

What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up that morning?

Did you know what would happen?

How did they get you home?

Who folded your flag?

Are you wearing your blues?

Can you hear me?

Who are you, Rushka?