TAKEAWAY: This is part 27 of my occasional series 40 Years/40 Lessons, which I call a sort of career memoir, capturing highlights and reminiscing about what has been a spectacular journey for me, doing what I love most. Today’s segment: Becoming a grandfather: the joy and the magic.
Illustration by Ana Lense Larrauri/The Miami Herald
From left: Daniel Barravecchio, Frankie Barravecchio, Tyler, Jack and Max Garcia; Danny Lazaro; Michael Garcia; Sophia Lazaro, Brianna Garcia, Angelina Barravecchio, David Lazaro
Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild. ~Welsh Proverb
I was at the Atlanta airport that day, Feb. 12, 1999, when I got the call from my then assistant, the late Martha Daughtry.
“Congratulations, grandpa,“ she said in her usual cheerful tone, a slight Southern accent adding to the charm.
“Yes, you are a grandfather now. Brianna was born a few hours ago.“
And so I cried that day when I first became a grandfather, then called Maria to congratulate her on becoming a grandmother, as we both embarked on the most fun and proud chapter in our lives.
What a chapter it’s been. Perfect love, indeed.
If becoming a parent is a turning point with all the excitement that a baby brings—especially that first one when one has no clue what it’s all about—turning into a grandparent is like indulging in a sweet and luscious dessert, but also contemplating all that stuff about heredity.
Today, 11 grandchildren later, I am the happiest when I am Abo, which is what the grandkids call me, shorthand for the Spanish “abuelo”.
If one’s love of his children is an intense, difficult to describe emotion, then one’s love for his children’s children doubles or triples it. I don’t know who said it, but how true it is: you love your grandchildren through your children’s hearts.
Nothing prepares you to be a grandparent.
No book or manual can describe all that is involved. I think that grandparenting should be left to serendipity. No training necessary. Just a big heart, a freezer full of popsicles, boxes of Oreo cookies in the pantry, and tons of stories that must adapt to the moment—-like those long ones with happy endings at bedtime, the ones about battleships when giving the grandkids a bath with a tub full of, what else, but battleships, or the ones about the turtle and the alligator who became best friends, when standing by the deck in the back of my house.
Our own experience as grandchildren is a good step towards becoming a grandparent, but only minimally. We must decide who we wish to be as grandparents, to create our own recipe for grandparenting, which is not too difficult: just add plenty of sugar.
Before we were grandparents, we were grandkids
I remember my four grandparents as doting, sweet and loving adults who spoiled me, indulged me in different ways and showed me the way of the world around me like only grandparents can, often reverting to their own childhoods to harmonize with mine.
Parents are supposed to discipline us. Grandparents are meant to conspire with us.
I admit that I prefer to conspire, and I am relishing the role with my 11 grandkids.
Of my own grandparents I hold the finest of memories:
My maternal grandparents, the Suarez, were a study in contrast. While my grandmother loved to make me my favorite red beans and ropa vieja, my grandfather, ever an artist in the makings, would love to sit down with me and show me his calligraphy skills, or the way he could take an aluminum can of soda and turn it into a miniature decorative chair that could double as a pin cushion.
I still see him, those bright blue eyes focused on the knife as he cut through the aluminum can, the delicate handiwork as a tailor sewing a suit. I always thought my abuelo Juan should have studied art and design. He drove a passenger bus, instead, from one end of Cuba to the other, for decades.
From him I learned that one has to love what one does, do it well, or, better yet, do it with a passion. I doubt there was a friendlier, sweeter and more helpful driver on that Santiago Habana bus route. In Miami, already retired, he perfected the art of cooking, and I can still taste his “dulce de toronja” . Abuelo Juan Suarez was a storyteller, and I find myself being to my grandkids the type of grandfather that he was to me—stories for every occasion, the eyes and ears of the grandkids glued to my every word. He taught me well. Now I can only begin to imagine how my clinging to his every word must have made him feel.
My paternal grandparents, the Garcias, were parents to 10 children, 8 boys and two girls. Theirs was a house of music, where every child played an instrument, and, of course, they had an orchestra, The Havana Boys (think the Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love). There were three pianos in that house, and dozens of trumpets, saxophones and clarinets. I believe I was reading music before I was reading the alphabet.
My father played the saxophone, all of my uncles played several instruments and one of my aunts was the pianist. Rehearsals were always going on in their house. I grew up with the music of Cuba, but also with that of Glen Miller, Benny Goodman, the Gershwins and Cole Porter. From morning to evening, the Garcia band played on. My own father was playing his sax at a Miami nightclub till only five days before he died. All that musical talent came from my grandmother’s side, Spaniards from Asturias, who had settled in Cuba.
My grandmother is, to this day, the sweetest, most calm individual I have ever met. She taught me by example: don’t let things get to you, tomorrow will be better. I saw her the last time in late 1961, just before I left Cuba. I remember the moment: she was standing by the window of her living room, contemplating the gardenias in her garden (she was devoted to her flowers), and, just before she said goodbye, she gave me the prayer of St. Jude, to keep with me at all times. To this day, I keep it. Her image standing there, her perfectly ironed white blouse on, not saying goodbye, just smiling. It’s a wonderful last image to have of a woman who inspired with her simplicity, and accomplished much around the house while always humming a song.
Her husband, my grandfather, on the other hand, was a disciplinarian of sorts, with everyone, from his adult children, to us grandchildren and anyone else who would listen to him. He was a man with firm opinions on every subject and a weakness for the “sport” of cockfighting. What a contrast to my grandmother. He tried to make her snap out of her calmness, without much success.
Grandma Servanda was liberated in her own way, a woman ahead of her time. From grandfather Garcia I learned that walking was the best way to exercise and a source of natural therapeutic value for the mind. The man never got into a car or a bus, but did take a flight to Miami when he became a Cuban exile. He died in Miami, at an advanced age, walking almost daily till the end.
What type of grandfather am I?
Perhaps it is a question my grandchildren should answer.
I think I am a little bit of all that I remember from my own grandparents.
Nobody trains you to be a grandparent. It comes naturally. We all get an instant Ph. D. on the subject the moment that first grandbaby makes his/her grand entrance.
As grandparents we usually compare our grandkids to our own children. But each generation brings its own uniqueness and peculiarities, along with traces of the family’s looks, talents and DNA.
Of my 11 grandkids, not two are alike. What a joy it is for me to see them parade in front of us, each unique in his/her own way ,with their own talents and abilities and how they connect with me and with the world around them.
The girls, Brianna, Sophia and Angelina, are all into theater; they love to sing, to dance and to perform. With them, I am in my element. A theatrical grandpa that’s just what God had in mind for these thespians in the makings.
The boys, and there are 8 of them, represent a variety ranging from baseball, where Max, Ty, Jack, Danny, Michael and David excel, to standup comedy where nobody can compete with Frankie.It’s too early to tell where Daniel will put his stamp, but he and I are pals and he loves stories, bird watching and just plain going for the long walk whenever we have a chance.
When they come to my house, they know the refrigerator will hold delicacies that their own mothers won’t allow: Oreo Cookies and assorted ice creams, for example.
My piano is always open and the keyboard inviting. The deck on the back of the house is a sanctuary for bird watching, looking for alligators in the Hillsborough River and just plain commuting with nature amidst old Florida trees that are centuries old, which is the way I probably appear to the grandchildren, a prehistoric man who in their presence forgets that there is another plane waiting, or a new project to tackle, a silly old man who can concoct stories about Sammy the Alligator, or lead the girls into a tap dancing routine based on the song Mr. Sandman (as sung by the Puppini Sisters), not to mention that I keep two teddy bears, Hugo and Howie, in the back seat of my cars complete with complete full profiles that some real people don’t even display on their Facebook page. Every time the grandkids get in my car, I weave a story about the bears, with one reminder: nobody can take Hugo and Howie from the back seat of my car.
It does not get better than being Abo to my grandchildren.
They are, indeed, my most fun projects, past and present.
One of my favorite all time quotes about grandparenting is the Jewish proverb that reads:
When you have a grandchild, you have two children.
Based on that, I like the numbers I see on the calculator with my four children and 11 grandchildren. A rich man, indeed.
1.Mirrors.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_1—a_look_in_the_mirror
2.Refugee.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_2—refugee
3.Teacher.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_3—teacher/
4.Mentors.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_4—mentors/
5.Consultant.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_5—consultant/
6.Eagle.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_6eagke
7.Abroad.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_7._abroad
8. Books
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_8_books
9. Luck
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40years_40_lessons_9_luck
10. Positive.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_10positive
11. Culture
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_11_culture
12.Adapting.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_12_adapting1
13.Dreams.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_13_dreams
14. The Pitch.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_14_the_pitch
15.. Ethics.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_15_ethics/
16. Time.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_16_time
17.Pause.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_17_pause/
18.Stories.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_18_stories
19.Boss.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_19_boss
20.Bubblies.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_21_bubblies/
21.Age.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_21_age/
22.Competition.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_22_competition
23.Heart.
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_23_heart
24.Teddy bears.
http://www.garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_24_teddy_bear
25. Butterflies
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/40_years_40_lessons_25_butterflies
26. Change
http://garciamedia.com/blog/articles/p40_years_40_lessons_26_change._p
