| The Man Who Never Ceased To Amaze Me
“I’m going to give you your birthday gift early.” Sometime in the month of August during the year 2005, my Grandfather handed me a knife, explaining to me its’ special features – a child lock and a small button to quickly flip out the blade. He warned me while pointing at the red and aluminum blade, “Keep this way from the kids.” His moustache had been shaved off, amplifying the presence of his usually neglected glasses. Gaspar Cruz III, my mother’s father, wore his hunting attire with a daily nonchalance and applied his Conservative outlook to every conversation he held. Brought up in the Philippines, having witnessed the poverty of a third world country, my Gramps began to slowly gather nationalism for America after immigrating. Having gone through many obstacles in his life, I was attracted to his evident charisma and acquired common sense, but the man underneath the waterproof khaki vest and behind the witty lines intrigued me more as his first-born granddaughter.
During my Uncle Jay’s wedding, my Grandfather was asked to present a speech for the newly wed couple; he was to offer words of wisdom, assisting the bride and groom in the new life they would share together. As I watched him walk to the dance floor to receive a microphone, I noticed that he had no note-card, no script – my Grandfather, a man who I jokingly called senile and forgetful, would be victim to improvisation. I braced myself, ready to see another side of my disciplinarian. He spoke,
the audience laughed, and I witnessed, perhaps for the first time, the public and truly lighthearted face of my Gramps. “Remember, if your wife is ever pissed, and she asks you to do something, just say, ‘Yes, Dear.’” When he returned back to our table, we commented on his well-worded (and quickly planned) speech. I smirked, thinking, ‘He never ceases to amaze me…’
Several years before my birth, my Grandpa focused his attention on his ‘unfortunate’ siblings in the Philippines. After over a decade and a half of waiting and signing paperwork, my extended family finally received visas and moved to America – they were then deemed ‘fortunate’. For their first year in the US, my Grandfather (and respectively my Grandmother) sheltered his siblings (along with their families) under his roof – feeding, providing transportation, and clothing each wife, husband, and child. I found a certain amount of respect for my Gramps when his brothers and sisters (and often their spouses) repaid him with labor such as gardening, cooking, and housekeeping, instead of money, which they received from their jobs. I was soon told they needed their money and my Grandpa was more than happy to have good company in the form of helping hands.
During my thirteenth year, when teenage angst had gotten the best of me, I broke down – screaming and tears included – directly in front of my Grandpa. He yelled at me then, for the first time in my entire life, leaving me completely devastated. My cousins stood in awe as my Grandfather watched me storm off towards the bathroom while dialing my Mother, who was incredibly upset and disappointed. I sat in the bathroom, tear-stained and stripped of my dignity, until I was hit by a revelation. My mannerism
was embarrassing, my Grandfather, along with many other loving members of my family, did not raise me to act this way. I washed my face and headed towards his room – portraying a much quieter demeanor than usual. When I stood in his doorway, he ignored me until I properly address him as ‘Grandpa’. When he turned to face me, I apologized for my behavior, and I looked away when speaking – fearful of his gaze, but he surprised me, once again. I felt he merely wanted to shrug then, because he merely replied with “It’s okay, your cousins aren’t used to it, you know?” I found out then, that protecting my cousins from my display of immaturity was the root of his anger. When I left the room, I called my Mother and listened to my Grandfather’s snore. He easily napped, as though nothing out of place had occurred.
My Grandpa Gaspar introduced me to politics at an early age. By the time I began the third grade, he insisted I grow up in a Republican household and lectured me on ‘idiots’ such as Bill Clinton and ‘absurd’ topics such as gun control. Although I enjoyed every statement he made, I found his response to a question I asked to be the most entertaining of all. I sat at the kitchen counter and asked, “And what about the Liberals?” My clever, inspiring Grandfather said with a shrug, “Eh, you can’t blame them, they’re only doing what they think is right.” With that line, my Grandpa Gus won me over – I placed his words high above my own and although I failed at times, I used parts of his image to pull me out of despair. After experiencing his never-ending lectures and undeniable knack for spoiling each of his grandchildren, I have proudly learned about life – the good, the bad, and the ugly – from him, an infallible human being. |
