sentimental labor

defensive line, offensive portions

A story my grandmother once told me was about the day she fed a football team with only a small amount of beef. My father played football, and one day after practice he brought some friends from the team over to the house. My grandmother was nervous about coming up with a meal for the boys when times were already tight. She held her small hands in a cupped form and said, “This is how much ground beef I had.” With both pride and panic, she pulled off a meal. Feeding the boys was a big deal to my grandmother — for her own dignity, for my father, and as a way to share the little she had.

It was unusual for kids as poor as my father to play sports, let alone two. Owning multiple pairs of shoes was a privilege. I think about how thankful I am for all the stories and lessons my grandmother has shared with me. There is also some darkness in her choices to keep poorly behaved men in her home. It’s important to forgive her because she is such a big part of me.