Grandma gave me her big bedroom and took the smaller one for herself. She learned how to cut my hair from YouTube, packed my lunch every day, and attended every school play and parent-teacher meeting.
She was my hero and my inspiration.
“Grandma, when I grow up, I want to be a social worker so I can save children the same way you saved me,” I told her when I was ten years old.
She was my hero.
She hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack.
“You can be anything you want, kiddo. Absolutely anything.”
But the truth was, we never had much.
No family trips, no takeout, and none of those “just because” gifts other kids seemed to get. As I grew up, I noticed an unsettling pattern emerge in my life with Grandma.
I noticed an unsettling pattern emerge in my life with Grandma.
“Grandma, can I get a new outfit?” I’d ask. “All the kids at school are wearing these branded jeans, and I want a pair.”
“We can’t afford that, kiddo.”
