Rice and Grandmothers

I've been wanting for a while to blog about grandmothers for a while, but again, just haven't.

Wednesday night I had a chance to share a memory about my Nanny with a friend's child. I was with SO's children, and the oldest was off at church, and the youngest and I went for a Sonic run to get a root beer float (ninety nine cents.)

This child's mother, SO, is half black and half korean. Her mother is Korean but acts black (don't ask me, I just tell it) and she loves to cook Korean for her chirren and grand chirren. I have not met the generation prior, but I hear wonderful mixed culture stories about them.

So, I told this adorable little boy how my Nanny would make "purple cows" for her grandchildren. She would buy the grape Shasta in a can, and make a coke float with it - hence the purple cow. I have an entire memory of it that includes the little storage room with the freezer, her kitchen, and just everything about that house.

So I asked this adorable kid about 10 or so (who knows, it's not like he's MY kid) if his grandmother does or makes anything special for him. He replies, immediately and very seriously, "rice."

I thought to myself, "I meant something a little more special than rice, but hey, it's your grandmother."