Growing up, my grandmother was endlessly patient with my sister and I. She would put up our hair for ballet class even when we complained she was pulling too tight, she would make us rice krispie treats to take to school, she walked us home from the bus stop, she fed us sliced fruit and fresh bread after school and before bed. She was so sweet with us that both of us hold her up as a model of all that’s patient and kind and good.
So it was kind of a surprise to hear that she’s not this nice to everybody.
My grandma went to live with my aunt and uncle, her oldest son, when I was around thirteen. Some years back, my aunt’s niece came to live with them to attend design school for four years. And apparently my grandmother terrorized her, enough that she would often go to her bedroom and cry, and call her mom in Korea and say sad things. A major sticking point was that this girl’s long black hair got everywhere, all over the bathroom sinks and bathtub drain. But C and I are major hair shedders, our hair and mess have gotten everywhere our entire lives, so none of this should have been particularly new.
Turns out, my grandmother is only sweetness and patience to her family.
And I don’t mind that at all. It just makes me feel more special (if, maybe, less nice).
