I believe that grandmas have secret superpowers.
The shrill of laughter and conversation were suddenly silenced by one large, “SMACK.” Sunday dinners at Gram’s house are never boring, but when the four oldest of her grandchildren launched spaghetti into the air to see if it would stick to the ceiling, we’d reached the epitome of all foolishness. As our parents began to scold us, Gram jumped in to put and end to it, claiming she had instructed us to do such a ridiculous thing. She had separated the villains from the victims.
But it is a grandmother’s ability to heal that is the greatest of all these powers. As she lay her wrinkled, chubby, Italian hand on my forehead, I felt a burst of life come over me. Gram could always tell when I wasn’t feeling well, just by the look in my eyes. When she predicted my sinus infection, it wasn’t much of a shock. The week I missed from school, I spent at her house. She fed me anything I could keep down. Her grilled cheese was cooked to perfection, immaculately toasted bread with a layer of mozzarella between, the ultimate side for tomato soup.
Between drinking lots of fluids and getting lots of rest, I realized something that week. Everything feels better when it has a grandma’s touch. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had to bend down to hug her, not that I’m tall she’s just short. But her hugs are the best thing to feel in your heart when the rest of your body only feels sickness. As she wrapped her short, stumpy arms around my waist, she would whisper, “You’ll feel better soon, baby.” Her voice was one only a grandma could have: quiet and gentle, with a tiny bit of rasp. In the time she was hugging me, I didn’t feel sick; I only felt love. I would rather be sick at her house for a week than sick at my own for a day, unless, of course, she was there with me.
Now that I am in high school, I don’t get sick days at Grandma’s house. I’m old enough to stay alone, but do I really want to? No. Do I? Yes. I’d drive myself over there, but she’d say that wasn’t a good idea if I was really sick. She can always tell when I’m faking. That’s another superpower. Her chubby cheek rises on one side as she smirks, as if to say she knows everything, but will take care of me anyway.
I believe that no matter how old you get, you’ll always be able to feel the love of your grandma. So maybe one day when I’m in college, I’ll fake sick, drive home from wherever I may be, and just relax with my Gram. I’ll do things for her, even though she’ll tell me not to. With my arms wrapped around her, I’ll respond, “Gram, it’s my turn to take care of you.” She’ll hold me in her arms, then laugh it off and beg to differ. I’ll bring her grilled cheese and tomato soup. She’ll tell me it’s the best she’s ever had, and mean it. Just because she’s like that.
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