Each Time I See Bruce Jenner, I Thank God My Nana Is Dead

From Olympic gold to golden highlights, I'm just glad my beloved granny isn't here to see this.

My grandmother, God rest her soul, worshipped Bruce Jenner, Because she lived with us, she joined our family for most meals -- including breakfast. For my brothers and me that meant bowls of Wheaties, for her: a cup of Sanka and a Virginia Slim.

In a housecoat and mules, she'd sit beside us, admiring the Olympian who graced the bright orange cereal box and tell us that Bruce was the epitome of the American Dream.

After finishing 10th in the 1972 Olympics in Munich, Germany, the track and field champ doubled down and committed to an unprecedented level of training, all while toiling as an insurance salesman. (Who knew, right?) All that hard work paid off and Bruce took the gold in the decathlon in '76. (She gathered all this without the benefit of Wikipedia -- it was 1977 after all.)

"That's 10 separate events! And look how handsome he is," she'd crow, blowing smoke rings at our chandelier. "Who knows what he'll do next?"

After she'd say this (daily), she'd move the box around the dining room table as if she were already starting him on his rightful, amazing trajectory.

Oh, Nana, I'm so glad you're not alive to see what Bruce has been up to. She envisioned the man from Mount Kisco, New York training world-class athletes, not begging OJ Simpson's gal pal to give him his ATM card back. She was willing to overlook his star turn on The Love Boat in which he's mysteriously clutching the legs of Hulk Hogan, but shaving his Adam's apple -- for whatever reason -- would've really put her right over the edge.

My grandmother lost respect for the uber-manly Clint Eastwood when he took on a simian co-star, there's no way she could handle seeing her erstwhile idol looking like Kate Jackson during the Charlie's Angels years.

So, Nana, as much as we miss you (and your awesome Boston Cream Pie), when I see your hero pleading to buy himself a toy helicopter, getting no respect at the Kardashian Kompound, or finding himself the butt of Wendy Williams' jokes, I know it's for the best you're no longer with us.