"Girl, you don't eat enough to keep a fly alive."
"I do eat."
"No you don't."
"I know what you were doing over there in that Japan."
"What was I doing, Grandpa?"
"Not eating, that's for sure."
This is what I deal with every 3-4 months.
Since returning to the States, today was my first time eating at my Grandpa's house. Before digging in I stared down at my plate for a few seconds and realized: Wow, I missed this. This is what coming home feels like.
In black culture, and especially in my family, feeding someone is an expression of love. I'm glad that in a world where I'm surrounded by messages and images saying "Don't eat this. Don't eat that. Don't eat at all", I have people like Grandpa who don't make me feel guilty about food, but just want me to eat! He might not say so in the warmest way, but it's good to know that he cares.
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