Father's Day

Today I took a little time to honor the daddies in my life: my daddy, via phone call, and my baby's daddy, via presents, hugs, and fun time together. As far as celebrations go, today was pretty low-key: just church, lunch out, and only the three of us hanging out. Lovely. I woke up at the first sound Little made in order to prepare our gifts, and we woke Paul up with a card thrown in his face and Little timidly chanting "Happy Father's Day" to her sleeping daddy. He loved his gifts, and the day went on. Little had some emotional moments today. Probably not feeling 100% herself because of teeth or growth or impending illness. But that was the day. I talked with my dad on the phone for a bit and we talked about the usual stuff, and then I talked with mom since we hadn't talked since I last saw her. I told her about a dream I had last night.

I dreamt about my maternal grandfather, who passed away over a year ago. In my dream, we were on our trip to Mexico that we will be taking this summer, visiting my grandparents, and Tito was still alive but very sick in bed. I went into his room and laid down next to him. I told him I loved him a lot. He turned his head because he hadn't heard me and I repeated it, louder, into his ear. He told me that he loved me too. Then I left. I felt sad because I somehow knew that I was saying goodbye to him. Then I was walking outside his room, holding Ellie. We looked into his room and saw the bed made, with only one pillow in the center, for Tita. Ellie asked "where's Tito?" and I told her that he was with Jesus in Heaven. Then I heard Tita crying from somewhere inside her room, and I looked for my mom. I saw her standing across from me, crying, and I started to cry too, and that's how I woke up.

I was never close to Tito. He was the kind of grandfather who didn't seem to really need his grandkids. Maybe he was different earlier, but I fall, age-wise, somewhere toward the bottom in the large group of cousins, so by the time I came around, what was one more? He was also sick for most of what I remember. Back surgery, painkiller addictions, old age, and stubborness born from his extensive medical knowledge. Doctors really are the worst patients. When we lived in Guadalajara and would visit, my brothers and I said hello, paid our dues, and left "the house of silence" to go play with our cousins next door while the grown ups talked. We couldn't get out of the house where mom grew up fast enough. He joked or teased or was sweet at times when we gave our hello and goodbye kisses, which gave me a glimpse of the man he really was, but I never really got to know that man. I know he was smart, hard-working, strict. Maybe I wish I could have known him better. The one thing that I remember that he said that stuck with me is that "you are never truly jealous of someone unless you would trade places with that person." I don't know why I remember it, but I do. I don't know why I dreamt about him last night, but I did.

I don't really remember my paternal grandfather either. Grampy died when I was in kindergarten or first grade. I'm not really sure; all I remember is that we lived in Florida when dad told us he had died of a heart attack. We gathered in my parents' room to hear the news, and I remember wondering why I didn't feel the urge to cry. I had wanted to, but I couldn't. Grampy was, from what little I remember, the epitome of what a grandpa should be: fun, funny, doting, spoiling, and loving. I remember the night he gave me my favorite teddy bear. It was Christmastime, and he handed me what seemed like the biggest teddy bear I had ever seen, a white bear wearing a sweater that bore the year 1986 knitted in red and green, saying "this little bear needs a mommy." Grampy talked about Mr. Rogers with us, and he played "corn on the cob" with my arm. (We pretended to put all sorts of ingredients on it--from the usual butter, salt, pepper, to the weird and gross ketchup, peanut butter etc., and then he would "eat" it). He even gave me a pen that was shaped like a corn on the cob. He told stories. I don't ever remember him having so much as a conversation with my parents. But that is pretty much all I remember. Anything else I know of him is what my dad told me, and he paints a much different picture of the man Grampy was than what my childhood memories tell me.

I think that I love Tito now more that I did back then. I respect who he was as I share some of his values. I still love Grampy too, no matter what I learn about his past, because I'm thankful for the childhood memories he gave me. In their own ways, they both make me feel loved. They gave me my parents. They taught me lessons. They deserve to be honored on this day as well.

The marquee on a church we drove by today said "Don't forget to honor your Heavenly Father," so to God, (and Tito and Grampy, who are fathers and are in heaven): Feliz Dia del Padre! I hope you guys are partying up there because your kids love you so very very much.