“The booze sure did flow at Grandma's house. That's where the action was. Her name was Henrietta. We kids just called her Grandma Henry. She was a big woman, a matriarchal type. She wore pointed cat-eye glasses, chain-smoked, owned a couple of street-corner bars and was not afraid to express an opinion - and shout you down if she disagreed with you.”
The recollections of a young boy in the late 1960s of his hip grandma who liked to throw parties in her big old house in an urban residential neighborhood. When she hosts his uncle’s college graduation party, the boy inadvertently finds out the fruit punch is spiked. Then the adventure really begins. Going to Grandma’s house was never quite like this.