Father's Day

Tomorrow some of us will make a last minute run to the pharmacy, grab a quick card, scribble a few choice words down, and take an obligatory trip to our father's house; some of us will face tomorrow with a chip on our shoulder, stating "I celebrate my moms on father's day"; some of us will relish in being the father we never had or in being the man our father's raised us to be; while others will take the day to reflect on the father that is no longer physically with them.  No matter which category you fit into, tomorrow is Father's Day.

Here in Puerto Rico, my grandmother and her neighbor traditionally recognize Father's Day today.  My neighbor pays homage to her husband as well as my step-grandfather by placing a bouquet of fresh flowers  at their graves every year.  She also comes equipped with a broom and dustpan, ready to clean and make everything pretty.  This tradition is not something I've ever been apart of, so I tagged along as a visitor.  Quietly watching and following Mama's lead.  But, upon arrival, we split ways with the neighbor.  The neighbor made it a point to note that perhaps my grandmother and I should head over to Papa's grave and have our alone time while she fixed up her husband's grave.  Already, my presence has broken tradition.  Again, I just quietly followed.  Giving no opinion.  I was there to accompany Mama, to reflect on the life of a man who to this day continues to touch me and to give prayerful thanks for his presence in our family. So, we walked over, replaced old fake flowers with new ones and just sat there.  At first it was awkward (as grave sites usually are), but then, I started hearing music...English music.  Upon further investigation, I realized it was coming from  my purse.  It was a song I had bookmarked on my phone a few months ago.  Initially the thought was to shut it down right away, but then I heard "Cuz IIIII love the way you call me baby, and youuuuu take me the way I am" and at that moment a peace came over me and I just let it play.  I let it play to celebrate Papa.

The man he was to me and the man he was to many.  That is just what Papa did.  He took everyone the way they were.  He just loved.  And without a shadow of a doubt, no matter what, he had the uncanny ability to make me feel like he just loved me...for being 'Michie'.  Once the song finished Mama and I found ourselves clapping and again sitting in silence.  Then, I spoke my thoughts:

Me: "You know Mama, Papa is the only grandfather I've ever known."
Mama: "Really?"
Me: "Yeah and you know what else?  I didn't know he wasn't my blood grandfather until I was a teenager. I remember one day we were driving up to your house and I saw that the mailbox said 'Vazquez' and I asked Papi why is Papa's name Vazquez if our name is Gonzalez...and that's when he explained that while he considers Papa his father, technically he's not his biological father."
Mama (with a surprised look on her face): "Yes, that's right."
Me: "I was so surprised because I had never felt like he WASN'T my Papa.  He was always so loving and so wonderful to me."
Mama: "Yes, that's how he was.  He knew that if he married a woman, he married her children and that was it.  He treated my sons like his own and my grandchildren, naturally, were his.  In fact, he found out he had a daughter that he never met.  We went to California twice looking for her because he had heard that's where she lived."
Me: "Did he have any information?"
Mama: "No, he just knew she lived in California and that was it.  We went twice but never found her."

We fell into silence again and I was left alone with my thoughts.  It's hard to come to this realization, but after spending the past 6 months with my grandmother, I am certain that Papa played a huge role in maintaining whatever relationship we (the Gonzalez kids) had with them.  Every year growing up, we could each count on a card coming from them with a few dollars included.  That was Papa.  Whenever we came to Puerto Rico to visit, Papa served as the spokesperson for the household.  He would tell me "There's my beautiful Michie!  Come give Papa a kiss.  I love you so much.  What would you like?  Anything that is here, in this store you can have, just tell Papa ok?"  The coldness I could never understand from my grandmother was always superseded by the immense warmth and true love my grandfather showed me.  Family was important to him and somehow, God placed him right in the arms of a woman who acts like family is something she can do with or without.  He, along with my maternal grandmother, Mama Celina (may she rest in peace), were key in laying the groundwork for the household I was so blessed to grow up in and for the way our family still operates to this day.  So, I continued to sit and give my thanks for a man who technically owed me nothing but somehow gave me so much.  I prayed for the daughter he never found and even thought about trying to find her myself one day soon.  I think anyone who didn't grow up with their father would appreciate hearing that he searched for them, he thought of them and although he never met them, loved them as if he did.

Papa's new flowers!

My thoughts were eventually interrupted by the neighbor, coming to sweep and clean Papa's tomb.  As she cleaned she chatted away, with her own fond memories of Papa.  Then, she broke my heart.  While sweeping and talking sweetly to his tomb, she stops, turns to me and says "Did you know him?"   .  How does one respond to such a ridiculous question?  I was so confused and so offended.  This woman, who has lived next door to my grandmother for over 30 years, who essentially gave her son to my grandparents to raise, is now looking at me as if I'm some second removed cousin or something and asking me if I knew him!  It was rude, it was hurtful and it was uncalled for.  I responded by saying  "Of course I knew him, he was my grandfather.  We went to Canada together, he would come to New York all the time to visit and I would come here to visit with everyone."  She gave me a quick "Ah." and then felt the need to tell stories of her own kids relationship with him.  As I sit here and type, I am still confused.  I am still hurt.  I know my presence here has been difficult for her.  As my grandma and I's relationship has flourished, she has taken more of a backseat.  I have not pushed her there though.  I  try to include her and she declines (often rudely).  At times it feels like she's in some sort of competition to get Mama to eat HER food, to get Mama to remember things she did with HER kids, to talk about past times that I know nothing about because I was living in New York.  It's been an interesting line I've been riding these last few months.  An exercise in patience and showing love even when you may not want to.  Today, though, was a whole other level.  For her to say that to me, made me feel like she was trying to undermine and belittle my role in this family.  To almost say "listen chick, you're a new jack here so stay in your place".

The ride home was quiet.  I was still mulling over my feelings and trying to figure out what to do.  If this conversation were in English I would have without a doubt addressed it.  But, because she really doesn't understand English, I would have to address it diplomatically, respectfully and clearly in Spanish...something I know I would be unable to do with the amount of emotion I have running through me.  The neighbor interrupts my thoughts by saying "Why is Michelle so quiet, is she upset?"  Before I have a chance to answer, my grandmother recounts our conversation.  Attributing my quietness to realizing how important Papa was to me based on how well he treated me.  The neighbor agrees he was a great man and of course, once again, brings up her stories of how well he treated her and her kids "are like his grandchildren."  I couldn't take one more second in the car, as soon as we parked I walked to the house, walked into the bathroom and just cried.  I cried all my frustration this entire Puerto Rico experience has placed on me, I cried for missing Papa's funeral, I cried for Papa and I cried out those haunting feelings that no matter how hard I try, I will never make up for the years I wasn't here.  Today was a challenge.  Tomorrow will be better.