My grandfather, the root of who I am.
Born on October 20, 1920.
Married my grandmother.
A joke as a kid was he picked her out, took her with him,
away from the poor province from where she was from.
She spoke a different dialect but learned to speak his ilocano dialect.
He was a karpintero, a creator,
turning ordinary items into useful things.
A karpintero in the military. They
took him everywhere.
He had six children.
And like the typical Filipino dream of
wanting better for his family he brought them here, Where America’s Day Begins.
His youngest child was a girl.
And at age 66, 13 grandkids deep, on June
26, 1987, his little girl had me.
His greatest creation. ;)
May 11, 2003 was the last time I heard your voice
grandpa.
The last time I saw you, I don’t remember.
I don’t have stories with you. Not like grandma.
I have stories with her that could last five life times.
Not with you.
But we have poker.
The game we’d play in the garage to pass the time.
Sitting on upside down paint buckets.
We have poker.
Poker is more than a card game.
It’s life.
You play the cards you are dealt. You either love it or hate it. Either way you create the best hand you can possible make.
You make sure to keep a straight face as to not give away
your faults.
We turned it into a gamble by evenly distributing a
couple pennies from the 5 gallon jar we put all the pennies we found in.
Poker, life, gamble, can’t possible gain something
without eventually loosing something in return.
[A lot of my writings go undone, mainly because I can’t
find the right words to say. My stories stay unfinished in a notebook and after
some time has passed I revisit it to see if I can find a finish line. This is
one of those stories. In my head I know what I want to tell you but finding the
words to get it across is difficult. I share this because I wanted to dedicate
a piece for my grandpa’s 10 year death anniversary. And playing poker with him
is a pastime I remember vividly.]
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| We celebrate the life we have that you made possible. |
