Did you know that September 7th was grandparent’s day??
I missed it. We were in the middle of a furious battle with the roto virus and between 24 hour laundry rounds and yet another coating of antibacterial spray, the happy holiday went by unnoticed in our home.
Back when I was little there was no grandparent’s day, or perhaps there was but it was nothing we celebrated. I didn’t grow up very close to my grandparents but I have stories that I have inherited from my cousins and flashes of moments when I was very, very little. If I would have known how much I would need my grandparents and how much difference a grandparent can make in someone’s life, I would have treasured those memories more, I would have never allowed them to fade.
My grandma Maria died before I was born and my mom and my aunts never talk much about her. The very little that I know about her is that she was enterprising and hard working. They say that she was submissive and used to yield to her husband more often than not. Whether she was this subdued woman or not, she raised strong and independent women, hardworking and adventurous, she couldn’t have been too different herself.
My Papa Viejito or Papa Morante, what you called him depends on when you were born, was still alive when I came around and the memories I have of him are sweet and tender and full of patience and a certain air of defeat. See, I was one of the last ones that would be born before he died. Papa Viejito had many grandchildren and he was a father figure to them, he disciplined and he was to be obeyed. But as his life came to a close and he moved to Lima to get better treatment, illness made him weaker and he wasn’t quite so formidable and scary. That’s when the old man and I got to know each other, as I jumped all over him and my grandfather, overpowered by illness and age, let me romp freely.
I remember his wrinkled face, the creases of his skin and his funny smell. He smelled of that salve that they used to rub on us when we had a cold, a little menthol and a little Yuk. These memories of my Papa Viejito are mine; no one told me about them, something in me instinctively recalls them when I think of him. They tell me that I used to comb his hair and that I would get it tangled and I would lie next to him and play with him and he would ruffle my hair and call me his little sheep’s head. I think I remember that, but I am not certain, it could be that I’ve heard them so many times they have become part of my history.
Despite the fact that I did not share much with my grandparents I see some of what they were in their daughters. My aunts and my mother are incredible, they are all very different from each other yet they are all remarkable in their own particular way. Not perfect, bur remarkable and admirable nevertheless.
Today, some of us are grandparents too and we understand the quiet wisdom that age and time grants us and we realize that we can touch the life of our children and their children simply by sharing ourselves, and passing on the stories of our life and the ones before us.
We no longer have the same struggles that past generations faced, times have changed. Ours is a new challenge. It is our job to tell our children about Pacanga and Peru, to take them there and have them collect their cultural inheritance. They should know that we stand on the accomplishments of our parents and grandparents. It is our job to make sure that our children learn about the Christmas get-togethers we used to have when one house wasn’t enough for all of us, it is important for them to know that once upon a time we clung to each other because we were all we had in this new home. Nowadays it is different, we are dispersed throughout the world and sometimes we forget the places we come from and the places we have been, the people who used to be a part of our life’s and the memories of family and love that make up who we are.
On a day like grandparent’s day though we are all united by one common denominator, we all come from the same place, from the same family, from the same love.
Happy grandparent’s day to all the grandparents in your life!
All of my love,
China
Ustedes sabian que el 7 de Septiembre es el dia de los abuelos??
Yo me lo perdi. Estabamos en la mitad de la batalla con el virus roto y entre tandas de ropa sucia todo el dia y el desinfectar de la casa cada cinco minutos, se me paso el dia de celebracion.
Cuando yo era chiquita no habia dia de los abuelos o talvez no lo celebraban.Yo no creci cerca de mis abuelos pero tengo las historias que he heredado de mis primos y primas. Si yo hubiera sabido lo mucho que me harian falta mis abuelos y cuanto ellos pueden significar en tu vida, hubiera cuidado mas esos pocos recuerdos, no hubiese permitido que se borren de mi memoria.
Mi abuela Maria murio antes que yo naciera y mi mama y mis tias nunca hablaron mucho de ella. Lo poquito que se de ella es de que era trabajadora y emprendedora. Ellas dicen de que ella era sumisa y dejaba que mi abuelo fuera el fuerte de la casa. Si es que en verdad ella era sumisa o no, ella crio hijas fuertes, independientes y trabajadoras … ella no puede haber sido muy diferente.
Mi Papa Viejito o Papa Morante, el nombre varia dependiendo de el tiempo en que nacieron, todavia estaba vivo cuando yo naci y los poquitos recuerdos que tengo de el son dulces y tiernos,llenos de paciencia y resignacion. Yo fui una de las mas chiquitas cuando mi Papa Viejito se mudo a Lima para poder recibir tratamiento. Mi abuelo habia sido fuerte y estricto con sus otros nietos, pero ya cuando yo llegue, el ya estaba cansado y vencido, por la edad y la enfermedad.
Yo me acuerdo de su carita arrugada, su piel color caramelo que escondia sus ojitos y ese olor peculiar de el. Era el olor de esa medicina que nos ponian en el pecho, que tenia mentol y quien sabe que otra cosa. Esos son mis recuerdos de mi abuelo, nadie me ha contado de ellos, son algo instintivo que llevo en el alma y que salen cuando pienso en el. Si me contaron de que yo lo peinaba y le enredaba el pelo y me echaba con el y le hablaba y jugaba con el. El se entretenia con mi pelo y me decia cabeza de borreguito. Creo que me acuerdo de estas cosas, pero no estoy segura, es probable de que me lo han contado tantas veces que ya se volvieron parte de mi historia.
A pesar de que no comparti mucho con mis abuelos, algo de ellos paso a sus hijas. Mis tias y mi mama son mujeres increibles, cada una de ellas es diferente pero todas son notables. No perfectas, pero notables y admirables.
Algunos de nosotros ya somos abuelos, ya entendemos la sabiduria que nos da el tiempo y la edad y nos damos cuenta de que podemos influenciar la vida de nuestros hijos y nuestros nietos simplemente compartiendo un poquito de nosotros y contandoles las historias de nuestra vida y la vida de los que vinieron antes que nosotros.
Ya los tiempos han cambiado y nuestra lucha no es como la lucha de la generacion pasada. Nosotros tenemos otra mision. Nuestra mision es contarles de Pacanga y de Peru, llevarlos a que recogan su herencia cultural. Asegurarnos de que ellos sepan que estamos donde estamos por los sacrificios que nuestros padres y abuelos hicieron por darnos una mejor vida. Nos toca a nosotros contarles de las navidades donde nos reuniamos todos en una sola casa y casi no cabiamos. Que sepan que en algun momento nos buscabamos y nos aferrabamos los unos a otros porque eramos lo unico que teniamos en este pais. Ahora es diferente, estamos dispersados por todos lados y en el trajin diario nos olvidamos de donde venimos, de donde somos y de las personas que han sido parte de nuestras vidas, los recuerdos de familia y cariño que nos hace quienes somos.
En un dia como el dia de los abuelos todos estamos unidos por un mismo denominador. Todos venimos de el mismo lugar, de la misma familia, de el mismo amor.
Feliz dia de los abuelos a todos los abuelos en tu vida! ( mas vale tarde que nunca)
Nunca te olvides de donde vienes porque entonces dejarias de ser quien eres.
Telmo Morante Morante
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