WOW. Thank you Tribe. I lost my entire blog entry. My session had not timed out. I signed back in as prompted to pick up where I left off and Tribe left ME off. Imagine that?

Hmm.

My last living grandparent died Easter Sunday. His name was Sam Rios. He was one of the most funny men I’ve ever known. He once made me eat a garnish of fresh parsley because he said it would put hair on my chest. Since I had been raised to obey my elders, I ate the damn parsley and later hurled. I burped and tasted parsley the rest of that day. I was nine.

I have more fond memories of my grandpa. There was that one time he made bouillabaisse, kept insisting it was vichyssoise and I kept thinking, “I am NOT eating that. It smells like fish and it looks like throw-up.” (I was eight or nine. Grandpa fancied himself a world-class chef.) My mama made me eat that soup knowing I had been feeling nauseous all day. Grandpa growled at my mom about how children nowadays don’t respect their elders and that his grandchildren had better eat his soup.

I sat there. I ate a few spoonfuls and knew it wasn’t going to turn out right. I sulked at the table as I played with my soup. I felt like shit. Grandpa grumbled. My mama bowed her head because she felt ashamed of my behavior. My dad gave me THE LOOK. I took another spoonful. I remember feeling my stomach turn. Grandpa had had enough. He excused me from the table and boy was he angry. My parents got told.

I ran to the bathroom and hurled. Once the contents of my stomach had been cleared I dragged myself onto my grandpa’s ginormous bed and fell asleep. Moments later, my mama walks in, sits herself beside me and says, “Grandpa is upset baby.” I kept my eyes closed. I remember my mama carefully placing her hand on my forehead, then she whispered, “My goodness, my sweetheart, you have a fever.” She called to my dad. Dad hugged me. Grandpa came in and told them all I was faking. Grandpa was not impressed.

I said, “Grandpa, your soup wasn’t gross. I’m just sick, grandpa.” Grandpa wasn’t buying any of my crap.

Once, I asked my grandpa how to say please in Spanish and he said, “Por pless.”

The funeral services were great. Its always nice to see everyone even under such somber circumstances.

I made the rounds, kept myself and my children away from the pedophiles (Yes, I have those on both sides of my family and still I grew up with a relatively healthy outlook on sex. Yes, I was molested but not hurt.) As I walk up to pay my respects to my grandpa’s second wife I tripped in a rather large ditch between a few headstones that had been crudely covered with huge, green Astroturf. In my efforts to avoid falling on some of the more elderly I twisted my ankle.

Family and friends rally to my aid, I’m bombarded with twenty questions about my ankle, my hips, my knees, ice packs and as I stand up I announce, hands in the air, “Yes people, its ALL about me. I was his favorite.”

I heard I missed a most wonderful eulogy. My uncle Tommy is a pastor of the born-again Christian denomination. His sermons are long but wonderful. According to Uncle Billy, Uncle Tommy went up to the podium and the guests settled themselves in for a lengthy eulogy but Uncle Tommy said, “I’d like to read a poem…” that turned out to be a rather long scripture from the bible.

Uncle Billy said he got up after his brother was done, nodded to thank him, got to the podium and said, “I’d like to read from the book of Dr. Seuss…”

Uncle Billy *brow furrowed* says, “I am Sam.” (pregnant pause) “Sam I am.” Uncle Billy and I were laughing hysterically. He slaps me on the back and says, “Hey mija, I heard you fell at the grave.” More hysterical laughter. “What happened mija. You miss the viewing?” Ohmigod.

My family is great! My grandpa was great.

Andrew, the Pincher, once told me “Perception is everything.” I knew what he meant but felt, at the time, perception was like a first impression. Watching the pedophiles and my dysfunctional parents work the crowd I came to the realization that the most lasting impressions are what remain. It didn’t matter that my grandpa threw my beloved, dearly-departed grandmother down the stairs on a regular basis. So what if the decorated Korean War veteran chased off the man my mother loved before she met my dad-because he was black? What mattered was that he had a great sense of humor and he loved to cook.

I am not a fan of first impressions and I feel that perceptions of the same person can vary from one day to the next depending on who you ask. Perceptions are a lot like opinions and should be taken with a grain of salt. One should at least consider the source.

I love you grandpa! You made ME laugh.