So yesterday, I learned, was the death anniversary of my paternal grandmother. My mother, being of the age when one clings to all sorts of religious traditions, sort of coerced me into doing the litany prayers for the dead. Well, coerce is too strong a word; she didn’t really have any other choice—my father’s too stubborn to do anything like that and my brother was off gallivanting with his girlfriend. So that left me, me the new driver who relies heavily on my mom to ask my dad for permission so I could take out the car. It wasn’t…