My Classmates Spent Years Laughing at My ‘Lunch Lady’ Grandma – Until My Graduation Speech Made Them Fall Silent

She was 70 years old and still showed up before dawn every morning. Her thin gray hair was always tied back with a scrunchie she made herself.

And every apron she wore was different. Some had sunflowers. Some had strawberries. Some had silly little patterns.

She once said, “If the kids have to stand in line, they might as well have something nice to look at.”

Even though she spent her whole day feeding other people’s children, she still packed my lunch every morning. She always slipped in a sticky note.

Sometimes it said, “Eat the fruit or I’ll haunt you.”
Sometimes it said, “You’re my favorite miracle.”

We were poor. But she never let it feel that way.

When the heater broke one winter, she filled the living room with candles and blankets and called it a “spa night.” My prom dress cost $18 from a thrift store, and she stayed up late sewing tiny rhinestones onto the straps while humming Billie Holiday.

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