This is a blog post that is a long overdue. Appropriately, it’s being posted at the end of Día de Los Muertos.
In truth. I thought about it a year ago, November 2017, after my grandmother Felicitas died.
Now, in light of her late husband, my paternal grandfather’s death, I’m compelled to write it.
A few years back I made a post about how I grew up not knowing Spanish and the effect it had on my upbringing and my ancestry.
Today, I lost another grandparent; my grandpa Lucas.
And the memories of last year and what I missed out on for almost 3 decades came back to light.
My grandpa Lucas was a hardworking, busy man. What memories I have of him were kind, stern, and generous. Rarely one to ever leave his property or home, we almost always only saw him when we traveled down to south Texas for summers and holidays. My Mom used to joke that every time we went down to visit, something had to die.
Because invariably, my grandfather would kill and butcher an animal when we visited. Usually a goat or a pig, and usually castrate another pig for fattening. My uncles and dad would then get the barbecue going. He and my dad taught me the importance and appreciation of what was raised and brought to the table. A ritual, if you will, that grounded us and reminded us of who we are and where we come from.
These will be the memories that will never leave me. A culture centered around the pit, the smell of something cooking, my grandma Felicitas’ literally larger than life flour tortillas, laughter, beer, and kids running around everywhere. And despite the language barrier, all this.
Despite my inability to hold a conversation with him, I learned and appreciated him by his example.
I can only imagine what it would’ve been like growing up talking to him. I know that there’s something missing. That I missed out. And I know there’s much more that needs to be posted here too, but alas is lost to acclimation.
So for what it’s worth, make the effort. If you speak another language, don’t be shy about it. If you are a culture that others may judge or frown upon, wear it as a badge of honor. It’s our differences that hold us together at the seams. We’re better for it. It’s not just a language. It’s not just a way of life.
It is life, and it’s beautiful.
Que en paz descansen queridos abuelos Lucas and Felicitas.
In truth. I thought about it a year ago, November 2017, after my grandmother Felicitas died.
Now, in light of her late husband, my paternal grandfather’s death, I’m compelled to write it.
A few years back I made a post about how I grew up not knowing Spanish and the effect it had on my upbringing and my ancestry.
Today, I lost another grandparent; my grandpa Lucas.
And the memories of last year and what I missed out on for almost 3 decades came back to light.
My grandpa Lucas was a hardworking, busy man. What memories I have of him were kind, stern, and generous. Rarely one to ever leave his property or home, we almost always only saw him when we traveled down to south Texas for summers and holidays. My Mom used to joke that every time we went down to visit, something had to die.
Because invariably, my grandfather would kill and butcher an animal when we visited. Usually a goat or a pig, and usually castrate another pig for fattening. My uncles and dad would then get the barbecue going. He and my dad taught me the importance and appreciation of what was raised and brought to the table. A ritual, if you will, that grounded us and reminded us of who we are and where we come from.
These will be the memories that will never leave me. A culture centered around the pit, the smell of something cooking, my grandma Felicitas’ literally larger than life flour tortillas, laughter, beer, and kids running around everywhere. And despite the language barrier, all this.
Despite my inability to hold a conversation with him, I learned and appreciated him by his example.
I can only imagine what it would’ve been like growing up talking to him. I know that there’s something missing. That I missed out. And I know there’s much more that needs to be posted here too, but alas is lost to acclimation.
So for what it’s worth, make the effort. If you speak another language, don’t be shy about it. If you are a culture that others may judge or frown upon, wear it as a badge of honor. It’s our differences that hold us together at the seams. We’re better for it. It’s not just a language. It’s not just a way of life.
It is life, and it’s beautiful.
Que en paz descansen queridos abuelos Lucas and Felicitas.
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