Morphing Into Goomah
MIM | June 13
Matthew from Childsplayx2 here! Now some of you may have remembered that back in April we promised to present a Goomah (a guest blogger of the female persuasion) each month to balance out all the testosterone here at The Blogfathers and we started things off with the fabulous Busy Mom in April. Well, now we’re into June and somehow May just skipped right on by. To rectify the situation we asked the very talented Morphing Into Mama to do her stuff here at The Blogfathers. MIM did not disappoint. So, pull out your tissues and enjoy our June Goomah, Morphing Into Mama.
When Matthew asked me to write a Goomah post for this fine site, he said the only requirement was that it be about fathers. “Oh, that’s easy,” I thought. “I’ll just write something about Husband, who is a great father and . . .” and then I saw my Grandpa F in my mind’s eye. There he was, all hunched over in his white, short-sleeved button-down shirt and those dark grey trousers that are just short enough to reveal bleached white socks sprouting from gleaming black leather shoes. He’s tugging at his cracked belt, bringing his trousers closer to his chest, despite the fact that the belt was holding them perfectly at his waist. His expression is warm, his smile wide. Then, with a glint in his eye he says, “Hi, Darling.”
I knew at that moment I had to write about him.
As a young man, Grandpa F came to this country from a small village on the Yucatan coast. He made his way to Miami, where he found a job that paid him to do what he did best: play the violin. Granted, it was in the reception area of a brothel, but, hell, it was a paying gig. Eventually, he moved on to play with a symphony, which brought him first to New York and then California, where he later settled to marry my grandmother and start a family. My grandmother’s body, however, had been so badly damaged by a car accident she’d experienced in her youth that instead of filling their home with the laughter of wee ones, it was filled with grief as she suffered several miscarriages and one stillbirth. Fortunately, many years later, my father’s arrival brought joy and immense gratitude to their house because not only did God bless my grandparents with a child, He blessed them with a son. Grandpa F was fifty years old.
Twenty-one years later, I arrived to become the twinkle of my grandfather’s eye. He loved me absolutely and unconditionally. And I loved him so much, it made my heart hurt whenever my father ranted at him and told him how he was making his life better than Grandpa’s and how he wouldn’t allow his family to live the way Grandpa F did. Then my father would kick Grandpa’s pink wingback chair, the one Grandpa would let me sit in while I watched “The Muppets” and ate chocolate donuts until I couldn’t eat anymore. My father would call that beautiful chair “ugly” and “embarrassing” while Grandpa sat in it, wringing his hands. I watched in horror, wishing I could make my father stop. “Don’t yell at Grandpa!” I’d want to shout at him. Instead, I’d run in and out of the room, feeling unable to watch, yet wanting to make sure that Grandpa was okay. Then after my father left, I’d try to make Grandpa laugh. I’d dance for him or suggest we watch “The Honeymooners,” or sometimes I’d just hug and kiss him.
When I was fifteen, Grandpa moved to San Francisco to live with us. Integrating Grandpa into our “happy” home was not easy since it was actually rife with conflict. However, as is often the case with warring factions who suddenly have a common enemy, Grandpa’s presence soon served to abate the conflict between my father and step-mother. Dinnertime, at which Grandpa was always absent, became a time for my parents to re-bond by sharing complaints about him. Their complaints soon turned to mocking “the old man.” I found their laughter seductive enough to willingly participate, as I hoped it would keep their yelling, screaming, name-calling, and fist-fighting from ever returning.
Then one day I came home from school, and Grandpa was gone. He wasn’t just taking his usual walk down to the Mission to have coffee at McDonald’s. No. Grandpa was gone gone. His closet was bare. His dresser was empty. Grandpa had run away.
It wouldn’t be until a year later that I would finally see him again. He was back in San Diego living in an apartment. I was back living with my mother, a mere 30 miles north of him. I explained that I, too, had run away from my father’s house. He responded with silence, and I couldn’t read his expression – mainly because I was so weighed down by my guilt, I couldn’t even hold my head up far enough to see it.
For the next year and a half, I kept in touch with him by phone, but our talks were always filled with awkward silences. Then one day I couldn’t reach him. And the next several times I called, his phone would just ring and ring and ring. Until one day, it didn’t ring at all.
Several months later, I came home from school to find my mother waiting for me by the door.
“Grandpa had a massive heart attack and died,” she said.
“What?. When?”
“Four months ago.”
“What? How did you find out?”
“I finally had to call your father and ask if he’d heard from Grandpa F.”
“Was he in the hospital when he died?”
“No. He was at home in his apartment. He’d been there for several days before someone found him. Your father said he was too angry at you to tell you.”
For years I carried this massive guilt for using Grandpa as the common enemy that only superficially united me with my father and step-mother. I betrayed the one person who was a constant source of love and happiness for the first six years of my life. Even when I saw him that year before he died, I was too ashamed to tell him how I really felt. And then it was too late.
Thankfully, he returned to me one night about eight years ago. I was at a busy train station, and Grandpa emerged from the crowd to greet me. We silently walked arm-in-arm for a bit, and then I started to walk slightly ahead. My arm slipped from his, and I was three feet in front of him. I suddenly stopped, turned, and ran back to him. I hugged him and said, “I’m so sorry, Grandpa. I love you. I love you so much.” As I took a step back to look at his face, he tugged at his pants and said, “I love you, too, Darling.”
Then I awoke.
When I think about my Grandpa F today, I realize he’s still teaching me about love and forgiveness.
Sometimes, it’s our father’s father who teaches us the biggest lessons.
Hi MIM,
I never got to meet my grandfathers but it’s nice to see that they can be a real source of learning and love. Thanks for writing.
This was just heart-wrenching, and touching, and beautiful. Sometimes our parents’ parents teach us more about love, because theirs is a different kind of love (as is our love for them). More selfless, in some ways, sometimes, freer of the hangups and issues that parents can be saddled by in their quest to get it right. For most grandparents, getting it right is just loving. And we can be just as neglectful of that love as we can that of our parents, although usually for different reasons. So wonderful that you came again to appreciate that love, and that you shared it with us. Reminds me that I want, need, to write about my Grandma, really soon.
Can’t talk. Throat full of lumps.
MIM this is a great tribute to the man and he would be proud to read your words of wisdom. Today you will have touched the life of someone to rethink their stance about a relationship and for a brief moment you will have opened a heart to let some light shine upon a darkness. I for one will say just a little prayer for your family and thank the man upstairs for allowing us to see a great human, that has provided us with another good soul in you.
[…] Morphing Into Mama has a great piece about her Grandfather over at the Blogfathers site. The piece is proof that being a father never really stops once you are given the title. you may add words to the title like grand and great, but you’re always a Father nonetheless. Genuine | 8:09 am | Genuine Philosophy, Genuine Bloggers, Genuine and the News, Genuine Writing « Like Puppies And Kittens […]
I’m with Dreadmouse.
Wow, MIM. This broke my heart for your grandfather, but also for six-year-old MIM, wanting so badly to protect him from his own son.
Seriously, it is just dust….in my eyes……happens all the time. Thanks MIM!
Awww! This is the sweetest and most wonderful Goomah! I’m teary and laughing and happy and sad all balled into one! Great entry!
Oh my gosh, there should be a warning up at the top. Something big and red and flashing that says, “Note: If you’re a pregnant woman, do not read this or you will find yourself sobbing in your cube at work.”
Isn’t it amazing how families can pretend to be united when there’s a scapegoat? *sigh*
This is so incredibly touching! I probably shouldn’t have read it at work, I’m fighting back tears as I write this. I’m so glad you were picked as the first Goomah!
MIM, that was wonderful and very touching. Thank you for sharing.
Oh (sniff), my (sniff), goodness! (sniff, sniff) How much more heart-wrenching and touching can one’s story about their grandfather be? Unfortunately I never met my father’s dad; and being that my father and I haven’t spoken in several years I will never know anything about him for the rest of my life. Sadly, because of my situation with my own father my children will suffer the same fate as I. Thank you for giving us a peek into your life with these two men - just in time for Father’s Day!
What a beautiful story. I’m sure your grandfather knew how much you loved him, he didn’t need to hear it in words. They just know. You are so LUCKY to have known your grandpa. I miss my grandpas so much. I never met them. I was the only grandchild to my paternal Grandfather and I’ve always been told how I was the light in his life. I guess he retired just to he can be with his little granddaugther. Sadly he passed away when I was just 1 year old. It makes me want to cry every time I think about him. But somehow we have this special bond. Everyone who knew him tells me how much I look like him. I feel his love with me always and I feel close to him. I hope he knew how much I loved him and still do….
That is so sad and beautiful at the same time.
I just came over on Ann’s advice, thank you for the story, I had a very special relationship with my paternal grandfather for the first 6 years of my life. He was very special
That was so touching. Beautiful.
Beautifully written, raw and real — MIM’s trademark.