Meeting My Grandmother Essay

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The scent in another country can throw off your equilibrium; like when you get off a boat that you have been on for hours and the steady ground is unfamiliar underfoot. That is how I felt as a kid my first summer in Zapotlanejo, Jalisco, Mexico where my father’s family is from. I was only 11 years old when I was put on a plane and delivered to my grandmother, Carmen, by the airline. What a feeling, a boy who spoke very little Spanish at home yet understood every word, was deposited in a small town 40 minutes outside of Guadalajara, Mexico into the care of a grandmother who he had never meet.
When I finally managed the courage to open up and see what she was about, I ventured around her quaint house. My grandmother’s home was nothing
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Walking in was always an adjustment; the lack of natural light was scary and it was long and narrow with the only other window on the first floor at the end of the deep combined living room, dinning room and kitchen. Despite my initial unease the memories that were made there are very special to me.
When I first met my grandmother she had been was a widow for as long as I had been alive. She was 62 years old and had a lot of love for all of her family. Her smile was soothing and her hugs were healing. This woman had given birth to 11 children and worked very hard all of her life, her back had been bent by it all. I learned so much from her but there is one thing that to this day motivates me, she was an entrepreneur.
Just out side of that back window on the first floor there was an unassuming courtyard and a brick building. One day my grandmother took me out to the courtyard and showed me what was behind that building’s door. Little did I know that soon I would find myself spending hours behind that door every day of the week; behind that door was a taller.
Walking through it was amazing. The scent was incredible, like putting on a new shirt before you wash it for the first time. The taller never smelled like any one person, it was always smelled like that new shirt smell to me. The sound, on the other hand, had more than one tune. The sound of the scissors cutting fabric from around the world was pretty, since there

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