My grandma is getting there. and by there, I don’t mean over the hill, toward the light or any other metaphorical place people go in life. She is old, her skin more translucent and scaly with every visit. She tells the same stories twice and questions my slang.
My dad and Crazy are having marital problems. He was disappointed I didn’t support his sulking at dinner, and commented about it at the rehabilitation center where my grandma was staying.
Somewhere in the conversation, my grandma blurts out, “I don’t understand men.”
76 years old and she is nowhere closer to understanding than I am. Fortunately, understanding a gender is not my goal.
One man at a I time, I think.