My grandmother, the prostitute

I gotta start calling her “my father’s mother”. Whenever I say “my grandmother” people assume I’m talking about my mother’s mother who is very much alive, present and online…

“Oh! I didn’t know your Grandma worked as a sex trade worker,” they’ll say, with an image of my mother’s staid mother in mind. “She’s certainly come a long way! She’s so pleasant, well-mannered and kind.”

I don’t know what offends me more: the impossible, unholy image of my mother’s mother in the sex trade or the fact that so many people believe that someone in the sex trade can’t also be a part of “respectable society”.

I really don’t know much about my father’s mother except that she worked in a nightclub in old Phenix City as a singer, waitress and “possible prostitute”. My father used to say that his adoptive mother would remind him of his birth mother’s profession when she was upset with him.

The fact that my father’s mother was a sex trade worker is not a source of shame or pride. It was a job, I guess. We all have to do things that don’t jive with mainstream society. There is a chance that my father’s father was a “john” which means that I may not have been here today were it not for the sex trade.

So, if there is something good about me it could be said that something good has come of this trade. Not everything related to prostition is bad.

So, celebrate your local hookers! Give ’em the respect they deserve as workers.

I am a resident of Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada who has blogged here for 20 years. I like to share my thoughts and feelings on my own online space. From 1998 until 2017 I worked as a journalist and I hope to use this website as an archive for all of my stories.

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