Because she loves the Broncos (watches every game) and has no idea what football is about.
Because, despite being raised to believe that blacks are inferior, she met my black wife and loves her. Really loves her.
Because when a black woman tricked her a few months ago and ended up stealing her purse, she didnāt give the color of the thiefās skin a second thought.
Because she drank screwdrivers while smoking non-filtered Lucky Strikes and watching Late Night with David Letterman. She still watches Letterman, though itās now The Late Show with David Letterman.
She doesnāt smoke Lucky Strikes anymore.
She doesnāt drink vodka anymore.
She uses an oxygen tank thanks to the Lucky Strikes.
She struggles to hide the pain she feels every day.
She knows sheās going to die.
She wears a wig to hide chemotherapyās evil trick.
Sheās getting better.
She doesnāt know how tough she is.
She doesnāt know how much she influenced me.
She doesnāt know how lucky I am to have a grandmother.
She knows I donāt have any grandfathers.
She knows I donāt have a father.
She reads my stories in the newspaper every day.
She changed my diaper.
She wiped my nose.
She taught me about life.
She is going to beat cancer ÷ again.
She is my hero.
Sheāll never understand why.
My mother does.
My wife does.
My children will.
My friends do.
My cousins do.
You might if you knew her.
You probably do.
Sheās somewhere in your family, too. |