Lee was a willful grandmother who held my hand with the lightest grip. Often times I forgot that I was being led into a new path in life while following her footsteps. Whenever we crossed the crowded road on the street I noticed her stumble a little.Her legs were growing weary at this time and I thought it was because she didn’t get enough rest. Lee woke up early in the morning to draw circles sometimes I would ask her why but she never answered. I was too small to understand that she couldn’t hear me every time I would laugh or cry. Yet I did both of these things and she would understand me. The day before she passed away she was taking me to a toy store. The cars in front of us would grow impatient. I watched as the windows to cars went down and many heads shouted angrily. Yet Lee my willful grandmother kept a smile to her face as she strolled her way to the other side. I pulled her faster as the honks grew louder and louder and I fell. I fell in the middle of the road and I heard it for the first time. I heard someone discriminate her race. I heard it once and I heard it twice I pulled my grandma to the other side. I was afraid. Lee’s lustrous eyes didn’t move from their settled place in the corner of the block. I buried my face in her pattern filled salwar kameez. She was a spice that had to go but she filled me up with a wonderful experience. At home, she prayed on her islamic janamaz rug. Prayed beautifully that she kissed the prayer rug, my grandmother was islamic. I was catholic yet I watched her closely because she fell in love with a catholic. She broke the chains of stereotypes in her own culture. Lee didn’t hear the evil of the word she felt it
She felt it as she was pushed around, she felt the vibrations of the people around the corner would stomp their feet and clap their hands in protests. She saw the people on the streets hunger clouding their eyes.