I remember my grandma sitting at the kitchen table with cucumber (黄瓜) pieces stuck on her face. My sisters and I had them on our faces, too. We would just sit laughing at each other and seeing who could stick the most on at once. We looked silly, but it was a good way of cooling down when the apartment got too hot.
From our days as newborns, my grandma raised all three of us while my parents worked. As I got older, my family left the apartment and moved into a new house. I called my grandparents every day. I can't remember all that we talked about, but I remember how much we laughed. Mostly, though, our phone calls centered on my school homework.
Grandma was a Greek who came to America without speaking a word of English. I remember when one of my tasks was to learn the Greek national anthem (国歌), she took it upon herself to teach my sisters and me every word. As she sang, her voice was always filled with pride. She didn't Americanize herself to fit in, but brought her roots (根) and planted them firmly.
Now, I visit my grandma once a week in her nursing home. She can no longer walk, eat hard food, or carry out a conversation. She can say a few words at a time on a good day, but the nurses don't understand her, as she's returned to speak Greek.
One afternoon, I was feeding my grandma and a nurse walked up to us and said, "Are you her grandson? Because she knows you — I can tell. She doesn't look at anyone else like that." I looked over and my grandma's eyes were fixed on me, with the same kind of smile I've known all my life. I got close to her and she kissed me. Of course, she hasn't forgotten.
