Man, I miss Grandma Franklin. The long-running joke around the house was that she put extra hair on everything, including pizza. Yes, you heard that right; hair. I'm sure it was just an accidental thing, but it seemed that "white hair" was an added topping to almost everything we ate. That's an exaggeration, but you get the idea.
Marge "Pearl" Franklin became our caregiver because of extenuating family circumstances. We moved into her house just a few days before my freshman year, and just as my little brother was hitting grade school. Trying times for sure.
My first encounter with the stringy substance was in the high school cafeteria. I remember taking a bite out of a bologna sandwich and coming up with a long, slimy hair. I pulled it from my mouth and everyone around me gagged. After a little discussion, there was confirmation that it was Marge's hair.
The same thing happened to my little bro Andy. He had several stories of lunches and dinners where he was served extra hair. After having this happen at dinner, while we were together, it became a known phrase to friends and family. Like, "Hey, did you get extra hair on your pizza tonight?" "No, but I got an extra serving on my ham sandwich."
Pretty soon I'd be at a friends house and he'd tell his mom to skip the extra hair. Or, they might say, "I just want cheese, but Adam wants his pizza with extra hair."
Grandma, I miss you and I love you. I'll take the extra hair anytime, gladly. You raised us, during your golden years. You should've been enjoying your retirement, yet you were rearing two growing boys. You were dealing with teenagers, when you should have been shopping at Spurgeon's. Well, we did a lot of that too. Thank you.
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