When the relationship went sour, as most teenage love does, Grandma put aside her feelings. So as I lay in my apartment, wearing sweatpants and eating ice cream out of the tub, thinking about how it all went wrong, Grandma was by my side.

“I’m outraged! How could she leave you? You’re perfect!”
I just sighed and rolled my eyes.
“You need to forget about her. You’re too good for her. Ya hear me? Too good.”

Her words made me feel a little better, but I was nowhere near full recovery.

“Now there’s a very nice woman in my PFLAG group,” she continued, “And she has a daughter, Esther Rosenthal. And guess what? She’s single. She’s a medical student at U of C or UIC. Anyway, it would be a very good match.”

I rolled my eyes, “Grandma, I don’t need you to set me up on a date.”

“So what? Ya gonna mope around here for the rest of your life?”

“No, I just think I can find my own dates. Besides, I don’t think it’s right to go out with someone when I still have feelings for someone else.”

“Right shmight. She’s a doctor, darling, a doctor!”

She may have a gay granddaughter, but she’s still a Jewish grandmother, and no sexuality is going to change that.


"The Butch's Bubbe" was published in Windy City Times Literary Supplement (2005)