Teen Funs - Nansy Free

Nansy wasn't a place. She was a person. Specifically, she was my best friend Leo’s 74-year-old grandmother, who had recently discovered a YouTube channel about "extreme urban exploration." When Leo’s parents shipped her off to our suburban cul-de-sac for two weeks, we expected quiet evenings of tea and cookie recipes. Instead, we got a manifesto.

Day four, we attempted her signature event: “Slip ‘n’ Sizzle.” She’d laid out a tarp in her backyard, greased it with cooking spray, and then used a pressure washer to create a slip-n-slide that ended in a kiddie pool filled with orange soda. “Live a little!” she cackled as Leo belly-flopped into the fizz. We emerged sticky, scraped, and laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe. My hair smelled like discount citrus for a week.

Day two, she woke us at 5:00 AM with a bullhorn she’d borrowed from the neighbor’s garage. “Morning, losers! Today’s fun: dumpster diving for discarded corporate secrets.” Maya, who wanted to be a lawyer, was horrified. I, on the other hand, found a broken neon sign from a pizza place that Nansy later rewired to spell “FUN” in our treehouse. She called it “reclamation artistry.” teen funs nansy

Leo went to the audition. He got the part. And somewhere, probably in a different CVS parking lot, Nansy smiled, opened her notebook, and wrote a new line: Phase two: The senior center break-in. For fun, of course.

On the last day, Nansy sat us down. “I have one final fun,” she said softly. She handed each of us a small, handwritten card. Mine said: You are braver than you believe. Go get lost on purpose. Nansy wasn't a place

We never played mini-golf again. But that fall, when Leo felt too anxious to try out for the school play, I texted the group: What would Nansy do?

Thus began the summer of Nansy’s Grand Teen Funs Extravaganza . Instead, we got a manifesto

“That,” she panted, leaning against a dumpster behind a CVS, “is what I call teen funs.”