Quelonio
12-04-2005, 09:54 PM
I'm sorry about this one because it is one of these life threads, but it just kind of happened, and no one is answering on AIM or messenger, and I know my parents are not home, and my girl is out partying so I have to share, it is a beautiful thing... but kinda sad.
As maybe some of you know (from previous conversations in this board) I am originally from Mexico, but I was admited into NYU film school so I came all the way up here, and I have been here for 2 and a half now, and I am about to graduate (thak the lord for that, I was not made for this weather).
When I left Mexico my grandfather had just turned 93 years old. His name was Leopoldo Monzón... He was named after king Leopold of Belgium (his father apparently admired the guy for never surrendering to the nazis even though it was clear that they could not defend themselves) and I was named after him. We called him Papa Leo, although he really liked it when we would call him Papa Grande.
This man had the biggest heart ever, he held a stature in the family that to this day no one has ever held, and I would say no one will ever held... Everyone from his sons in law to his daughters and grandsons admired and beloved this man. He believed in never harming anyone, he believed in staing ture and strong to your morals no matter what (when his family came back with him to Mexico, from France, my mom was having a tough time getting accepted into high school because she had never taken classes like MExican History and stuff like that, A high official told him that the only way that they could get her in was through a bribe, he cried, and went back to his daughter saying that there was no way he could be corrupt, that he was sorry, that they could find another way to get her into school, but that would not work.)
He worked at the UNESCO for years, when he retired he built a carpentry shop in the roof of his house, and he built every piece of furniture that was in my room when I was kid, and my sisters doll house, and my little wooden train that my brother and I used to hang around in when we where like five.
By the time he was 90 his mind had pretty much gone, he would call us desperately because he had awakened and this horrible thief had climbeed into the house, it would take hours before we could calm him down and show him that this thief was his wife. He would wake up clamoring that the goverment was going to build huge roads over towns that would block these town's sunlight, and that was appaling, and he would call the goverment and complain about this... Obviously a dream that he could not separate from reality.
I never really said good bye. The day that I left, my girl at the time and I fought and I was not able to reach his house before 7 PM when he went to bed. I called him though, when I was in NYC my mom asked me to call him for his birthday, it took him a while but he remembered me, Popoyo as he would call me (because his grandfather had called him like that and we both shared the first name, we where going to share the term of endearement) and he asked me where I was, and I told him that I was in New York (he moved here when he was 10 years old because there was a revolution in MExico) and he cried and he asked me why was I up here. And I told him, and with so much damn love in his voice he said "NYU that is a good school, I am so proud of you" to this day I could care less if I fail in everything else in life, the fact that he even said that to me, meant that I lived up to everything in life.
Thanksgiving of 2003 he left us, while he was sleeping. My mom says that my grandma and her where making lunch, while he was taking a nap, they say they walked back in the room, and he looked a different color. He had died. I was on my way to the airport. On a taxi cab to go visit my father's side of the family in Birmingham Alabama. I was listening to "Bolero Falaz" by Aterciopelados, damn I remember the exact phrase "Besos en tu camisa tu coartada está echa trizas" and then the damn cellphone vibrated... And my dad told me, very calmly that Papa Leo was not going to be ther in christmas when I got back. I took it very well... I promised I would call my mom that night. See how she was. I cried a little after that. And then I just did not think about it.
I did not go to the funeral, I was stuck in a thanksgiving festivity. Everyone was so damn happy. I did not know how to feel.
After that life went on, I have been back to MExico, but I have never visited him, I live there at what used to be his home with my grandmother. And I sleep in the room where we used to stay when we where kids. Somehow it never sunk in.
This year I took a class called Images of the 1930's although it is supposed to be a history of documentary images from the time. THe final project is about our grandparents, about talking to them, and hearing their stories. I remembered that at one point my grand father had recorded his memoirs and given us a tape. I asked my brother, who told me that he had actually imported those tapes to MP3 files. He sent them to me.
And today for the first time in 2 years and a half I listened to my grandfather talk. I was the only one, the only one of his grandchildren that was not present when he died, the only one that has not visited his grave. The only one that did not stand before they lowered it in, holding hads with my brothers and sisters, and my grandmother, as she said goodbye to the man that she had married for 50 years. I was not there. I am so sorry I was not there. I should have been there. And what is worse I refused to be there no more. And I loved this man like you got no idea, I love and admire him.
Damn I miss him. He would tell me right now that there is no point in feeling like this, that he is proud none theless, that I am working for a big thing here. And I know this. I think that just now I realized that this man is no longer here. For Real.
As maybe some of you know (from previous conversations in this board) I am originally from Mexico, but I was admited into NYU film school so I came all the way up here, and I have been here for 2 and a half now, and I am about to graduate (thak the lord for that, I was not made for this weather).
When I left Mexico my grandfather had just turned 93 years old. His name was Leopoldo Monzón... He was named after king Leopold of Belgium (his father apparently admired the guy for never surrendering to the nazis even though it was clear that they could not defend themselves) and I was named after him. We called him Papa Leo, although he really liked it when we would call him Papa Grande.
This man had the biggest heart ever, he held a stature in the family that to this day no one has ever held, and I would say no one will ever held... Everyone from his sons in law to his daughters and grandsons admired and beloved this man. He believed in never harming anyone, he believed in staing ture and strong to your morals no matter what (when his family came back with him to Mexico, from France, my mom was having a tough time getting accepted into high school because she had never taken classes like MExican History and stuff like that, A high official told him that the only way that they could get her in was through a bribe, he cried, and went back to his daughter saying that there was no way he could be corrupt, that he was sorry, that they could find another way to get her into school, but that would not work.)
He worked at the UNESCO for years, when he retired he built a carpentry shop in the roof of his house, and he built every piece of furniture that was in my room when I was kid, and my sisters doll house, and my little wooden train that my brother and I used to hang around in when we where like five.
By the time he was 90 his mind had pretty much gone, he would call us desperately because he had awakened and this horrible thief had climbeed into the house, it would take hours before we could calm him down and show him that this thief was his wife. He would wake up clamoring that the goverment was going to build huge roads over towns that would block these town's sunlight, and that was appaling, and he would call the goverment and complain about this... Obviously a dream that he could not separate from reality.
I never really said good bye. The day that I left, my girl at the time and I fought and I was not able to reach his house before 7 PM when he went to bed. I called him though, when I was in NYC my mom asked me to call him for his birthday, it took him a while but he remembered me, Popoyo as he would call me (because his grandfather had called him like that and we both shared the first name, we where going to share the term of endearement) and he asked me where I was, and I told him that I was in New York (he moved here when he was 10 years old because there was a revolution in MExico) and he cried and he asked me why was I up here. And I told him, and with so much damn love in his voice he said "NYU that is a good school, I am so proud of you" to this day I could care less if I fail in everything else in life, the fact that he even said that to me, meant that I lived up to everything in life.
Thanksgiving of 2003 he left us, while he was sleeping. My mom says that my grandma and her where making lunch, while he was taking a nap, they say they walked back in the room, and he looked a different color. He had died. I was on my way to the airport. On a taxi cab to go visit my father's side of the family in Birmingham Alabama. I was listening to "Bolero Falaz" by Aterciopelados, damn I remember the exact phrase "Besos en tu camisa tu coartada está echa trizas" and then the damn cellphone vibrated... And my dad told me, very calmly that Papa Leo was not going to be ther in christmas when I got back. I took it very well... I promised I would call my mom that night. See how she was. I cried a little after that. And then I just did not think about it.
I did not go to the funeral, I was stuck in a thanksgiving festivity. Everyone was so damn happy. I did not know how to feel.
After that life went on, I have been back to MExico, but I have never visited him, I live there at what used to be his home with my grandmother. And I sleep in the room where we used to stay when we where kids. Somehow it never sunk in.
This year I took a class called Images of the 1930's although it is supposed to be a history of documentary images from the time. THe final project is about our grandparents, about talking to them, and hearing their stories. I remembered that at one point my grand father had recorded his memoirs and given us a tape. I asked my brother, who told me that he had actually imported those tapes to MP3 files. He sent them to me.
And today for the first time in 2 years and a half I listened to my grandfather talk. I was the only one, the only one of his grandchildren that was not present when he died, the only one that has not visited his grave. The only one that did not stand before they lowered it in, holding hads with my brothers and sisters, and my grandmother, as she said goodbye to the man that she had married for 50 years. I was not there. I am so sorry I was not there. I should have been there. And what is worse I refused to be there no more. And I loved this man like you got no idea, I love and admire him.
Damn I miss him. He would tell me right now that there is no point in feeling like this, that he is proud none theless, that I am working for a big thing here. And I know this. I think that just now I realized that this man is no longer here. For Real.