BY SARAH TEREZ ROSENBLUM
When my mother told my grandmother I was a lesbian, my grandmother listened politely then went right back to describing her salad. “The most delicious little tomatoes,” she said. “And what’s that type of lettuce that’s sort of bitter?”
The next day she called to follow up.
“What you told me about Sarah?” she said, “I know that sort of thing bothers people of my generation, but I’ve thought about it and I just don’t care.”
My grandmother and I have always been on the same page.
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