My grandmother, the namesake of my eldest daughter, never said the word love.
She bundled me in so many layers in the winter that I became a ball wobbling down my Brooklyn street, brushed hair out of my eyes so she could see my face, and made me broiled chicken livers, or warm Farina with salted butter melting on top. She saved articles for me that she thought I would enjoy, encouraged me to learn new things, quietly displayed a poem I had written in her living room, and called to say goodbye before she moved on from this life.
Ariel Chesler is an attorney in New York. He lives with his wife and two daughters, and one cat. He is the son of feminist author and psychologist Phyllis Chesler. You can follow him on Twitter @arielchesler or on his tumblr Feminist Dad here: arielchesler.tumblr.com
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