Grandma, sitting next to me in the fourth row of a packed theater, as the house lights dim and the leading lady appears under the spotlight. The actress is poised, dignified; the audience silent, awaiting the first line of the play. Grandma, loudly: “That is a very heavy-set woman.”
Grandma, sitting next to me in a small coffeehouse, as the rock performer finishes his set of mediocre three-chord songs. The singer eagerly recites into the microphone his invitation that if we liked his music, we can purchase his CD at the table in the back of the room. Grandma, loudly: “Who’d want to do that?”
Grandma, sitting next to me in a Chinese restaurant, surrounded by family, including her Taiwanese grandson-in-law. The conversation turns to the intricacies of the Mandarin Chinese language. Grandma, loudly: “Well, it all just sounds like myeh-myeh-myeh to me.”
As an old woman, Grandma has earned the right to be a bit too honest, a bit too biting, a bit too loud. The feelings of the actress? The rock singer? Her grandson-in-law? Simply roadkill on the endless highway that is Grandma speaking her mind.
But Grandma speaking her mind can also be wonderful.
Grandma, on the phone with my parents, the morning after their teenage son has told them, through tears, that he is gay. They are shaken, frightened, angry, confused. Grandma, loudly: “You know what? You’re his parents. You love him no matter what.”