What am I?

 "What am I?" I asked my three year old Grandson as he sat and traced my Adventure Time t-shirt with his finger.

"You are Dandy" he said with a huge smile, like I'm insane for asking.

"But I'm your Grandma too." I said to a smiley but confused looking kid.

As a child my "Granny" seemed more Grandmotherly to me.  She had long gray hair, always pulled tight in a bun and wore dresses.  She had a small jar of crayons for the multitude of Grandchildren (somewhere around 80) to use when we visited.  (Not all at once of course).  She made the most amazing twisters (like a donut) that I longed for.  She spoke of Jesus often and with such passion.

My other Grandmother, a French Canadian, went by that name.  At age 90, she and her second husband walked into the house decked out in leather from head to foot.  They had gotten there in a red Volkswagon Beetle that she described as "A sweet little ride."  I associate her with boxed chicken soup and when Grandpa was alive, blood pudding and head cheese.  (He was Scottish).  Grandpa would take me for walks and buy me vanilla ice cream that came in a plastic baseball that I'd eat with a tiny wooden spoon.

Whatever kind of Grandparents we are as long as we show kindness and love and take their side against Mom and Dad on occasion, fond memories will ensue.