Is cutting up fruit for someone the greatest act of love?
on a grandmother's love, adoration, and the little things
many people have written, “to be known is to be loved”, and so on and so forth.
For me, it’s always a yes, and. To be known is to be loved, and to be cared for, and to have fruit cut up for you.
Growing up, my grandmother had a small daycare that really was just free or discounted childcare for all of the kids in her apartment building. I spent almost all of my formative early years there, aka 0 - 3/4 years old. She looked after me, and all of these children like she had given birth to us herself. Our home away from home. I was always excited to get to go to grandma’s house. Though many things have gone on with time, I still remember the details of her apartment fondly. Her decor, her rickety door stop for her balcony, the high chairs she had for babies, the nursery room. All of it.
Partly because of my grandma and my love for her, but partly because of the fruit.
I remember it vividly. my favorite part of the day. She’d get out apples for an afternoon snack, almost always honeycrisp. (my favorite to this day.)
She would say, “Apples are good for your bowels!”, though I had no idea what that even meant lol. (do you think she would know I would have IBS later in life, who’s to say!)
She would sit and meticulously cut up these apples so slowly, peel off all of the skin, only ever with a knife. Never a peeler. A very specific detail I have found to be common amongst Black grandmas. A special skill, just like the way Black grandmas always knew how to fix things, always knew how to calm my mother, and still would go on to see me and give me love even through her Alzheimer’s diagnosis in the future, even when she could no longer remember my name.
Cutting up that fruit was her form of love. She was a Gemini and therefore overflowing with words and affirmation growing up, but it was really this act of service that felt imbued with her love and power. It is the deepest act of love to do something for others without expecting anything in return. And as child would could you give back except a thank you, an i love you, and a hug.
And that was always more than enough.
In the fruit she cut up into small bits, in the way she watched and cared for the children of her apartment complex as if they were her own grandchildren, and in the way she gave love to everyone around her, she was love. The fruit being the ultimate metaphor.
Her words were small bits she cut up of herself to give to everyone around her, and I could not be more grateful to have tasted a small piece of it.
Food is love and in many ways these small acts would come to inform my career without even realizing it until recently. That magic that she imbued in me as a child had begun to manifest.
Like fruit trees, the seeds she planted in those small cut up bits of apple long ago have grown up and aged into me, and become a deep connection to her, to food, to love, and I will forever be honored that she took the time to cut up those apples for little me.
