this post was submitted on 11 Dec 2023
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My grandmother never bothered to ask us about any of it. She'd just wordlessly break out the peroxide, slap a bandaid on it, and return to whatever she was doing around the house.
I could and did wander into the house with blood pouring from the side of my head or with the front of my shirt soaked in it, and all she did was admonish me once for ruining my clothes. Very 1940s parenting.
I thank god for this. Because if I had told her where any of our war wounds had come from, that would have been a beating for sure.
๐ I guess we turned out alright regardless.