This was when my grandmother shoved me a little. As the adults chatted, he picked up a can of peas and held it by securing it between his flat palm and his chin, and I wondered if he was showing off. How are you?"Īndrew and I had been classmates for as long as we'd been going to school, but we merely eyed each other without speaking. Andrew's mother was the one who approached us, setting her hand against her chest and saying to my grandmother, "Mrs. Not being of the same generation, Andrew's mother and my grandmother weren't friends, but they knew each other the way people in Riley, Wisconsin, did. I'd accompanied my grandmother to the grocery store - that morning, while reading a novel that mentioned hearts of palm, she'd been seized by a desire to have some herself and had taken me along on the walk to town - and it was in the canned-goods section that we encountered Andrew, who was with his mother. In 1954, the summer before I entered third grade, my grandmother mistook Andrew Imhof for a girl.
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