Neighbor Girl

Self centered and rough atop her motor scooter, B is hardly the quintessential grandmother. Balancing her out, my dad’s mom is a floor length skirt wearing, book reading, nurturing grandma. The day she pretended not to know me, however, was the only time she erred in her matriarchal role. As she jokingly called me the little “neighbor girl” and asked why I didn't run along home, I, horrified at her misidentification, ran away to the barn for a little cry. Since I can isolate one sentence from her entire career as a grandmother as being hurtful, she did pretty well.