Give 'Em Hell, Betty Crocker

You Can Cuss, But Don't Give Up

A few years ago, I was going through some really difficult stuff. I had a dream one night about my grandmother, who passed away when Sam was a baby (ten years ago last month). She came down a flight of stairs, and I told her, crying, "I miss you."

My grandmother was not at all the Betty Crocker type. Quite the contrary. She hated cooking, which was fine because my grandfather was from a large Italian family and was an excellent cook. She had charm and social graces but her filter was much looser and thinner than most. She swore like a sailor and could back up that personality with a mean whiskey sour.

But she had a soft side, too, hiding under her quick wit. And in my dream, she put her hand on my cheek and said, "Give 'em hell."

Every time I need it, that memory pops up either in my feed on social media, or some other force reminds me where I came from, where I can go. It popped up again today, and I thought maybe you could use my grandma, too.

Give 'em hell.

And I did.