My grandmother told me when I was little in front of the TV watching cartoons she asked my grandfather what time he was going to go to bed and he said, “Go if you want to, but I won’t go. Go to sleep. But I’m not going until the child is in his bed.” He stayed with me to make sure I was okay and safe. This was how my grandfather was with me, as my guardian angel.
Whenever I went to my grandparent’s house Papala was always there, and I’d always go and watch TV or play and he would always ask me if I wanted something to eat and the older I became the more that answer was “No thank you.”, then he would ask “Why don’t you eat? You don’t eat enough. Why?”. Then I’d take some to make him happy.
Most of all, I remember how when I went to their house, he was always there, the skinny old man who’s grey hair looked slicked back with oil and wore the collared shirt and pants that older people wore, with the bifocals for reading and vision, sitting in a leather recliner that moved with the tug of a lever. That’s where he was, with the occasional Diet Coke can he sipped on that became like his signature, while watching any Angels game that was on. He loved the Angels; they were his favorite baseball team-- something that all his family inherited from him, especially after his passing.