Although I don't usually refer to my grandmother as "Shorty" today happens to be her 80th birthday. Which means that she is officially twenty-years older than she looks. (And she is kind of short, too.)
80 years ago, my gorgeous grandma Betty was born, the youngest of triplets to my great-grandma Belle. In those days, healthy triplets were a rare occurrence and so Robert Ripley himself, presented the Silberling family with a signed copy of his beloved Believe it Or Not book, which was one of my prized possessions as a child.
My Great-Grandmother was one of those super-human characters who managed to take care of triplet newborns and a toddler all by herself. In a small apartment in Brooklyn. During a very difficult time.
Whenever I get overwhelmed I think how easy I have it. I also thank Heyzues I didn't have triplets. Or twins. (They run in the family, you see.)
My Grandmother is the ultimate GGILF (I'll explain later, Grandma). She works her hod bod like she's twenty, bargain shops like a mofo and is a total party animal. She has also always been one of my biggest support systems. Like a cheerleader without the annoying pom-poms, my Grandma checks GGC daily and discusses the various posts with me over home-cooked meals. She's open-minded and hip with the times, while maintaining her class and authority. She listens to the younger generations and in turn, shares her stories. I have never been afraid to tell her anything because she seems to have always understood. Listened. Cared.
It is possible that my grandmother is the only person who has never judged me. Even when I came over to Passover dinner with new tattoos and facial piercings and skunked hair. She was never anything but supportive and loving throughout my many phases and boyfriends and bad habits. And I thank her so much for that because it meant the world to me. (Thank you.)
...And now, a montage of my 80-years-young Jewish Grandmother freaking a bunch of drunk Santas on Thanksgiving:
Happy Birthday, Grandma. Keep rocking.