I’m asexual demiromantic. I don’t feel sexual attraction, and I only feel romantic attraction if I already have a deep emotional bond with the person. In total, one person knows I’m demiromantic. I told my grandmother, who I thought was a bit homophobic due to bits and pieces of conversation throughout the years, a couple of weeks ago.

[Grandmother] took my sister and me out to eat for lunch, having not seen me in almost a year. While she was dropping me off at my house after lunch, my sister went inside, but I stayed to chat a bit before [Grandmother] left.

My ADHD kicked in and the conversation went from phones to mobile games, to mobile games based on a well-known book series, to said well-known book series, to the rather transphobic author of said book series, to transgender acceptance, to TV shows — all in less than five minutes.

Grandmother: “I just started this new show about a young trans kid that was born one gender but realized they were the other gender at four. And the parents automatically accepted them and helped them dress like the gender they felt, instead of the one they were born as.”

Me: “Really? What show?”

Grandmother: “[Show]. It’s really good; I’m almost done with it. It’s actually why I broke up with [Grandmother’s Ex-Boyfriend].”

I didn’t even know they were dating.

Me: “How come?”

Grandmother: “He kept saying that it’s against God, that the Bible says it’s wrong, and that they are all going to Hell. Same with other people like them. The Bible may say that in some parts, but I just don’t believe that my God would do something like that — would make them like that and then hate them for it.”

Me: *Surprised* “‘Love thy neighbor’ and all that. I have friends that are trans. And all of my friends are part of the LGBTQ+ community.”

I decided to take a chance. She wasn’t as homophobic as I thought. If she was accepting of a TV show character, I hoped she would be accepting of me.

Me: *Hesitantly* “I’m asexual and demiromantic myself.”

Grandmother: *Frowning* “Demiromantic?”

Me: “Essentially, I don’t feel sexual attraction, and only feel romantic attraction if I already have a deep emotional bond.”

Grandmother: *Smiles* “That’s like the main character. They have to already have a bond with the person to have feelings for them.”

The conversation continued, but I honestly kinda did the thing where you say, “Uh-huh,” “Yeah,” and, “Hmm,” to everything. I was happy that someone accepted who I was. If only the rest of my family was as accepting.

I’m out as asexual to my family. And while they’re not openly hostile, they’re not exactly enthusiastic about it, either. So, it was not a huge surprise my nephew chose me to first come out to as trans.

After some time, and with me by his side, he felt comfortable enough to tell his family. After a brief period of “Did we fail our child somehow?”, his parents started to make an excellent effort to respect his new name and identity. (Transitioning is another bridge we know we’ll cross at a later time.) His grandma, though… made less of an effort.

Grandma: “I’m all for supporting a child’s choices, but this feels like we’re just acknowledging a fantasy. Do you expect me to start saying hello to [Younger Grandchild]’s imaginary friend next?”

Me: “This is completely different and you know it. We’re talking about [Nephew], not something made up. And even if — IF! — he discovers he was wrong, we only reinforce our love and support by continuing to respect him now while he’s still exploring.”

Grandma: “But it’s so hard to call [Nephew]. I’ve known as [Deadname] entire life!”

Me: “What’s your daughter’s last name?”

Grandma: “What?”

Me: “What is your daughter’s last name?”

Grandma: “It’s [Married Name].”

Me: “And how long did it take you to start calling her Mrs. [Married Name] when you’d know her as [Maiden Name] her entire life?”

She continued to grumble and did not put in appearances at a few family gatherings, but she ultimately decided her family was more important than her hangups. It still took some time for her to be completely comfortable around [Nephew], but we could tell she was still trying in her own way. We could tell she was coming around when she read a Christmas card aloud, “Merry Christmas with love from [Nephew],” with a big smile on her face.

My great-grandparents were part of the generation that considered it standard practice to have a house built to live in forever instead of bought as an investment you happened to live in.

Several decades and three generations later, they’re making plans to move into a condo to help them transition into end-of-life care. My family decides to buy the house from them, as our house was meant for a family of three and we are now a family of six.

During the official walk-through tour of the house, my dad finds a few things that seem odd.

Dad: “What does this switch do?”

Great-Grandpa: “Nothing. It used to control the bathroom fan, but we moved it over here.”

Dad: “Was there something wrong with it?”

Great-Grandpa: “Well, no, but… see how you can reach the fan switch from the toilet? Your grandma thought that was a good idea.”

Dad: “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Later…

Dad: “Why does this hallway switch turn on the light above the kitchen sink?”

Great-Grandpa: “If you need to get to the kitchen at night, you don’t need to stumble around in the dark! You can turn it on outside the bedroom and turn it off before going back to bed!”

Finally, Dad opens a cabinet under the bathroom sink

Dad: “Is… Is that a cup holder?”

Great-Grandpa: “Uhhh…”

The prevailing theory is that my great-grandma liked to enjoy a cola and a cigarette in that guest bathroom. (There was a window that provided plenty of airflow.)

After my family moved in, we referred to these quirks as relics of “old man logic.” The bathroom cup holder has become a conversation piece, but I showered with no fan for three weeks because I couldn’t figure out which switch controlled the bathroom fan.

This is a favorite family story that has often been retold over the years.

My grandma and her sister are invited to lunch with some acquaintances who they’re looking forward to getting to know better. They meet at a dim sum restaurant and are seated at a large round table. 

The meal is served family-style, and the table has one of those Lazy Susan things that spin around in the middle, so each person can take some food from each dish and put it onto their own small personal plate in front of them. 

My grandma and her sister are not super familiar with this type of food or style of sharing, but my grandma is always happy to try new things. Her sister, on the other hand, is a lot more reserved and finds that some of the food is really not to her taste. She puts one particular kind of dumpling into her mouth and is so disgusted that she can’t help but gag and spit it out. But, being a rather proper lady, she somehow manages to do this extremely quietly and discreetly so no one notices (except my grandma next to her). She places the chewed dumpling onto an empty plate and moves it to the side so she can try to forget about it and enjoy the rest of the meal. 

Just then, someone spins the lazy Susan, and my grandma realizes that her sister has not put the chewed dumpling onto her personal plate but back onto a shared platter! Without missing a beat in the conversation, the woman on her other side reaches down with her chopsticks, absent-mindedly grabs the chewed dumpling, and pops it into her mouth! 

My grandma and her sister share a look of horror, but no one else at the table notices anything amiss, so they decide to go along with it and pretend nothing happened. It’s all they can do to stay quiet through the rest of the meal, and as soon as they say goodbye to the others, they absolutely fall apart laughing!

As far as I know, my grandma’s sister was too embarrassed to ever go out with that group again, and, like any true sister, my grandma never let her live it down!

Content Warning: Graphic Death Of An Animal

Once upon a time, in the 1950s, my grandparents moved to their first apartment. They were adopted by a somewhat feral cat they called Mama Kitty, who found her way into the apartment by jumping off the basement entrance doors, to the awning over the first-floor window, and leaping to the ledge outside the second-floor kitchen window. Mama Kitty had her kittens in Grandma’s pantry, which is when she picked up her name.

On Easter Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa went off to the church. That’s when Mama Kitty decided the kittens should learn how to hunt.

Mama Kitty tore the screen out of the window and jumped down her normal route. She caught a rabbit and brought it back in over the basement entrance doors and to the awning over the first-floor window, and then leaped up through the second-floor kitchen window, all while the rabbit was still alive! She then taught her kittens how to hunt in Grandma’s pristine kitchen.

By the time my grandparents came back, still nicely dressed in their Sunday best, there was blood and bits of fur everywhere!

And that’s the story of how Mama Kitty and her kittens killed the Easter Bunny.