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Everyone laughed. I didn’t.
At school, kids treated her like a punchline — snickering at her apron, mimicking her sweet “How are you doing, honey?” and calling her the “stupid lunch lady.” Nothing loud enough to punish, but enough to sting.
Maybe they thought I’d toughen up, or it wasn’t that serious.
But to me, every comment felt like it was chipping away at the one person who gave me a reason to get up in the morning.
I tried to shield her from it. She already had arthritis in her hands and often came home with her back aching. I didn’t want to weigh her down with teenage cruelty.
But she knew.
And she… stayed kind anyway.
My grandma knew everyone’s name, slipped extra fruit to the hungry kids, asked about their games, and loved them like they were her own.
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