Cranky

One of my most vivid and early memories in life include my grandfather. I don't even have to close my eyes to remember it, I can feel it even as I type.

I'm sitting high up in the large mango tree that once grew in the backyard of their old home. The roughly textured bark is scratching the backs of my skinny legs and some grainy pieces of wood are clinging to my ruffly white socks. I am wearing a sunny dress and laughing up at my Abuelo. He is wearing a light blue shirt, a few pens in the front pocket, khaki pants and his tinted eye glasses. We are both covered in the sticky sweetness of mango juice and the warmth of sunlight. He is laughing and telling me a vulgar story about himself as a child growing up in the Cuban countryside. He used to climb up mango trees and wait for his sisters to pass by, then he would poop on them. He is laughing hard and so am I. The mangoes are very sweet and very sticky. He is full of life. If he was ornery back then, I did not know it.

Abuelo is a storybook kind of man. Its true that you can barely understand what he says, whether in English or in Spanish. He always sounds slightly drunk and very crazy.

He's worked like a dog all his life to provide for his family and would give the shirt off his back to anyone who asked.

He loves land. He lives for planting, growing, cultivating. He is a very simple man in that respect.

He is a terrible flirt and a jokester, a sneaky prankster, a mischievous little boy for life. He loves nothing better than a crass joke and a good Benny Hill rerun.

He is a fighter. He left Cuba as a young man with only a 4th grade education to his name. He went back to school. He failed test after test for years, but kept on fighting and worked his way to becoming the Chief Plumbing Inspector for the city. No small feat.

He stands up for justice. He was thrown off a bus in New Jersey back in the 60s when he stood up and gave his seat to a black woman.

He is a hopeless romantic and the patron saint of lost causes. Especially when it comes to animals, he sees their hearts and souls. Nothing tugs at his heart strings more than an animal in need.

These are things I'll always remember him for. When the boys grow up and ask about him, these are the things I will tell them about. I'm proud of him.

Several years ago, Abuelo had to sell his land. He buried a large part of himself when he walked off it for the last time. It rips my heart in half to think of the great change that came over him. Losing land is no small thing. I don't think many people can appreciate it these days... we are largely unconnected to land. We don't really care about it and we move from place to place with such frequency that the idea of legacy has been lost. Abuelo was his land. His heart lived in those groves and his blood marked that piece of earth as his very own. He lost it and was never the same again.

We worried for a few years that he had developed some form of dementia. He had become so angry and harsh, forgetful and frustrated. Living only a few blocks away, I felt the brunt of that frustration and anger. At times I could not recognize him, his words had become so hurtful. He was just so damn cranky, all day, every day. We took him to a neurologist, fearing the worst and hoping for a quick prescription of happy pills.

The Doctor diagnosed him with Grumpy Old Man Syndrome.

He's fine. No neurological problems. He is simply old and frustrated and angry.

Early last week they had to open up his chest and change the battery on his pace maker. He isn't allowed to drive for quite some time and has been given strict directions regarding his care. He was hopping mad for two days before falling into a depression. My poor Abuela is trapped in the house with him, nursing him back to health while he heaps his bad attitude on her.

Today we finally went over for a visit. I needed to make sure a few days had passed so that he would be up for a visit from his great grandsons. I only wanted to stay half an hour. I thought the kids would drain him.

Just the opposite.

The boys rambled in with happy shouts and shrieks. The smiles stretched off my Abuelitos faces. We ended up staying close to two hours. The boys played, laughed and ate like little kings. Abuelo's mood improved with every passing minute. He told a few jokes, smiled, and kissed them often. He was sweet and crazy and lovable.

His sudden bout of improved health reminded me that my boys are his legacy. He has firmly planted his roots, he worked hard to do that for us all and now they are immovable, stubborn and sprawling every which way. My sweet little boys are his bright green leaves. They are his burst of life and renewed energy. They give him joy and lift him from the depression of old age and illness. He feels that they are his to grow and cultivate and nurture, which gives him a sense of purpose, a rare gift at this point in his life.

When the boys are with him, the cranky old man is put away for a time, I see him laughing again. I feel warm sunlight and sticky mango juice all over again. I am happy to see their small hands encased in his work worn and wrinkled palms. I hope he teaches them everything he can about trees, land, justice, animals, and hard work. He can keep the pooping from trees stories to himself.