Music. Life. Grandpa.
I must’ve been 18 or 19 years old at the time and we were on our way to see my dad’s dad. I never saw my grandpa too much. My dad did not grow up with him around and neither did we. I knew he existed when I was 5 or 6 years old. But his presence has always been felt around my house. When we got there, he was lying down in a bed, unconscious, but something curious was taking place. One of my uncles was singing to him, and he was singing back! A day later, he had passed away at the age of 75.
He died doing what he loved most: singing and feeling music around. That passion was passed on to his seven children, including my dad. My “abuelo” always had a guitar on (I seriously think that he was born with it…), ready to sing whatever. A drink would be the usual requisite for singing. Little did he know that those drinks would take him to the grave.
He was a true musician. He lived the moto “women, booze, and rock and roll”. My grandma would tell me that he could be out of the house for days at a time, without a care, just going from party to party. He loved to party. I remember one of the many visits that we had to pay him at the hospital, he was in intensive care and all the way thinking of a party in a friend’s house. He’d say: “Estoy loco por salir del hospital, aqui no te alimentan ni te dan na’… hoy habia fiesta en casa de compay, sabes? Y me tocaba tocar,…” I would be perplexed at his remarks. Not to mention, that the nurses feared him.
This necessity of playing and singing (but not drinking…) got passed to us. I’ve been singing for 18 years and dancing for 16 years. My sister plays the guitar and sings; my bro sings… everyone in my dad’s family does something with music. My grandpa funeral was full of music and happiness, just as he would’ve liked. By the way, he did not like funerals, you would usually find him singing and drinking to the memory of the deceased person in a bar near the funeral home.
His presence has been always with me through music. Since before I was born until this moment. He had taught me that music is life and she’s always going to be there with you. My dad made a promise on his dad’s grave: he would pass the same passion and love for music to every member of his family. So he has done. I always thank my grandpa for his music, for helping me find my music, therefore giving me another reason to live.
I must’ve been 18 or 19 years old at the time and we were on our way to see my dad’s dad. I never saw my grandpa too much. My dad did not grow up with him around and neither did we. I knew he existed when I was 5 or 6 years old. But his presence has always been felt around my house. When we got there, he was lying down in a bed, unconscious, but something curious was taking place. One of my uncles was singing to him, and he was singing back! A day later, he had passed away at the age of 75.
He died doing what he loved most: singing and feeling music around. That passion was passed on to his seven children, including my dad. My “abuelo” always had a guitar on (I seriously think that he was born with it…), ready to sing whatever. A drink would be the usual requisite for singing. Little did he know that those drinks would take him to the grave.
He was a true musician. He lived the moto “women, booze, and rock and roll”. My grandma would tell me that he could be out of the house for days at a time, without a care, just going from party to party. He loved to party. I remember one of the many visits that we had to pay him at the hospital, he was in intensive care and all the way thinking of a party in a friend’s house. He’d say: “Estoy loco por salir del hospital, aqui no te alimentan ni te dan na’… hoy habia fiesta en casa de compay, sabes? Y me tocaba tocar,…” I would be perplexed at his remarks. Not to mention, that the nurses feared him.
This necessity of playing and singing (but not drinking…) got passed to us. I’ve been singing for 18 years and dancing for 16 years. My sister plays the guitar and sings; my bro sings… everyone in my dad’s family does something with music. My grandpa funeral was full of music and happiness, just as he would’ve liked. By the way, he did not like funerals, you would usually find him singing and drinking to the memory of the deceased person in a bar near the funeral home.
His presence has been always with me through music. Since before I was born until this moment. He had taught me that music is life and she’s always going to be there with you. My dad made a promise on his dad’s grave: he would pass the same passion and love for music to every member of his family. So he has done. I always thank my grandpa for his music, for helping me find my music, therefore giving me another reason to live.
posted by Zayra E. Marrero at 6:36 PM
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