I had a surly paternal grandmother who seemed to revel in making the lives of children miserable.

When I was about four years old, I asked for a snack, and she gave me a raw onion.

I sat at the kitchen table and ate the entire fucking thing like it was the sweetest piece of fruit known to history, staring her in the eye the whole time.

If I had been just a little bit older and thought of it, I would've asked her for another one.

She died when I was seven. My reaction to this, as she lived in Washington State, was, "Does that mean we get to see Mount Saint Helens?" as the volcano had gone off just a couple weeks prior.