Love, Catherine

I have one memory of my grandmother, but it’s better than the others who have none. I’d guess it was in the 1970s around New Year. My father took me to a dingy apartment building in Los Angeles to visit my grandmother. At some point she asked my father to go and buy her cigarettes, quite ironic, since getting cigarettes was one part of tragedy. While my father was gone my grandmother offered me some 7Up and put it in champagne glass to make it special. She showed me books she got from library about Spain, she wanted to tell me my heritage. My father came back and quickly grabbed glass from my hand smelt it and gave it back. I was really confused and we left shortly after that.