Abuelito, my grandfather, used to talk a lot. A LOT. One day he was yelling at my grandmother about something (probably her terrible hearing) and she just sat there. He kept yelling. She kept sitting. They were a beautiful pair. Then he turned around and stomped away – probably still yelling because he wasn’t much for the “letting things go.” I looked at her. No one else saw her. But her and I caught eyes as she turned up her middle finger to him walking away. Sometimes battles are won in silence.
But the quiet fighter approach wasn’t the thing I got from her. Truth be told, I would have been Abuelito in that argument. No, the thing I got from her was her love of change and moving and different surroundings. She was infamous for moving. She once moved to the house next door just because. Pack it all up, settle it all in, knock it all down, and do it again. I’m not quite sure how my grandfather felt about it but he followed. Or maybe she just pretended to not hear his objections. I really can’t be sure. Now, I look at poor Husband and know he is destined for the same fate. He knows it too. The new generation of hmmm… where an what’s next?
I think if she had had a different life, born at a different time, living abroad would have been her thing. Moving. Changing. Seeing something different. I’d like to think she’d be doing what I’m doing. I’d like to think I got this from her.
That, and the middle finger, of course.