| The old photos of Lui
and Anne Granados, taken in
the 1920s that hang over my
fireplace, remind me that I
belong to something. I was
but one of their thirty
grandchildren, and while I
was certain they knew my
name I was also certain that
I wasn’t particularly
special to them – no more so
than any my fellow
twenty-nine siblings and
cousins.
My grandparents weren’t
the type to give frivolous
gifts, and I don’t recall
hearing them say, “I love
you” to me or anyone else.
They came from a time when
such things weren’t said out
loud – but were communicated
through action. It was a
time when people listened to
what you did more than to
what you said.
Every time I entered
their home from my youngest
days to the times of their
deaths, my grandparents
warmly welcomed me with a
kiss and hug. Their house in
Southern Maryland on the
Patuxent River became a
magical playground for all
us Granados grandkids, with
walks on the beach, fishing,
swimming, eating steamed
crabs we’d caught that
morning, and teasing Grandma
before dinner.
No one teased Granddaddy.
He was no nonsense; his most
common phrase being “Stop
that foolishness!” He worked
hard, couldn’t tolerate
laziness or disrespect,
didn’t like a lot of talking
(unless it was him talking),
loved to fish, loved to
remember his childhood in
Spain and loved my
grandmother.
Grandma had a charm
bracelet that had thirty
sterling silver charms, one
for each grandchild. Each
charm – a heart for a girl,
circle for a boy – had the
name and birth year of a
grandchild. Grandma would
wear this at every family
function and we’d love to
rush up to her, finger
through the charms and find
our names, reminding us that
we were somebody, a part of
her special world.
On the day of his or her
baptism, every grandchild
received a sterling silver
cup from Grandma and
Granddaddy engraved with the
baptismal name. They
produced a gift for every
child at Christmas and sent
each of us $2 on our
birthday ($1 from Grandma
and $1 from Granddaddy).
Though the amount of the
gift (which was started on
my brother Ricky’s first
birthday in 1949) never
increased, the tradition
continued until the youngest
grandchild was in her
twenties.
I can remember rushing
out to the mailbox on my
19th birthday to see if the
card carrying the same
signature “with love from
Grandma and Granddaddy”
would be in the box with my
$2 enclosed… and of course,
it was. How difficult that
had to be. I wonder if my
grandparents knew how much
their $2 token was worth to
the grandchildren who waited
to be remembered.
We never went on
vacation. We went to our
grandparents’ house. A few
of us would get the
privilege of spending a week
there in the summer, which
was heaven. My best memories
of childhood are at that
house, spending time with my
large family, eating
gazpacho and crabs in the
summer, talking to Grandma
after dinner while she
cleaned the kitchen. When
we’d leave her house, she
always waited by the door
until our car pulled out of
sight.
I always hated to leave
that house. There was
something there that I hated
to be pulled away from. I
didn’t realize that the
“something” was them, until
after they passed away.
I miss them every day. I
don’t know if their pictures
over my fireplace make the
ache of their absence better
or worse. These were not
grandparents that showered
me with presents, treated me
special, imparted great
wisdom, or spoke of their
love for me – yet I would
testify they were superior,
and I’d wish for no other.
Their great gift was
rendering a sense of
belonging. We were all
claimed by them to be a part
of their family, a part of
their world, with a place –
though shared by many – a
unique place in their
hearts. They remembered us …
and we will spend the rest
of our days remembering
them, Anne and Lui – beloved
grandparents. |
