When I was little, I loved visiting my grandparents. In my memories I can still see Grandma making breakfast in the kitchen. I watched her closely from behind a set of wooden blocks and a pile of my uncles old hotwheel cars on the floor. Every fall I smell new shoes and crisp jeans and think of our back to school shopping trips. As I have grown, my relationship with my grandmother has matured and changed. I no longer rely on those fall shopping trips, but I have come to rely on her acceptance of me, her cander and the wisdom of her experience.
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