preview

Descriptive Essay On My Grandmother

Good Essays
Open Document

Granddaughter Peeping through the blinds, I wave goodbye to my mom in her red, Mercedes Benz, and to my dad in his white, Toyota van, watching them go opposite directions towards work. I stumble across the couch, leaving indents from my knees, and walk into the kitchen where my grandmother stands with her familiar gray mug filled with steaming coffee and two cubes of sugar. As I walk to her side at the counter, I reach into a pink, plastic fruit basket containing ripe treasures purchased from Lion’s Supermarket. Two fruits: an apple and an orange, immediately sit upon my two hands. Shoving the round red into my grandma’s eyes, I await an answer. She squints, wrinkles deepening on her forehead, as if the apple was the challenge question on a math test. “Or...ange,” she says. I shake my head, and sound out the beginning letters of the fruit I was offering, until the word, “apple,” struggles out of her mouth. We both smile at the accomplishment as she points down at the orange and correctly states its name, confident in fashion. This calls for celebratory peeled orange and sliced sweet apple. Two weeks and two fruits, teaching my Chinese grandma some English words marks the biggest accomplishment of my first grade self. My first vivid memory of her, back when she wore floral button ups from China, cooked egg fried rice for our summer lunches, and washed my hair in the sink. I was her granddaughter. She was my mother’s māmā. We did not have the typical

Get Access
Related
Get Access