If you didn’t have generations of farmers in your genealogy, would you know what a windrow is?

If your sister wasn’t a nurse, could you navigate medical terms beyond stat/BP/ICU/code red from TV dramas?

If your gifted grandson wasn’t feverishly close to his doctoral degree in music, would you know about the celebrated nief-norf festival in Knoxville, Tennessee?

If you aren’t friends on Facebook, do you know who’s moving to Tucson, who’s off to National Guard camp, or who has a new dog/boyfriend/job/diamond ring?

If you fail to have the correct answer in such situations, you are merely ignorant. But you certainly aren’t stupid.

My mother graduated with a handful of female students from Northern Illinois University just prior to WWI. Sadly, not one of her children were able to obtain the coveted college sheepskin. WWII interrupted plans and rearranged lives. In her heart Mother did not think for a moment that her progeny were ignorant. But she did think we were, well, a bit stupid.

If you finally realize life is truly finite and move forward with what little you do have, you are no longer ignorant.

If you stubbornly refuse to marshal your legacies, you are, seriously, a bit stupid.

Your call—are you ignorant? Or stupid?


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