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Forever Young II
Sep. 19th, 2022 01:08 pmMay your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever Young, forever young
May you stay forever young.
(Forever Young: Bob Dylan – 1973)
Last month, I attended the 60th Wedding Anniversary of my Uncle Kādo (Ricardo) and his lovely bride Joie. It was a joyous and festive family affair that allowed the large Delgado clan to come together to celebrate the partnership and marriage of the eldest of 3 surviving siblings of Jesus and Maria Delgado’s 14 children. What made it uniquely notable was not only the longevity of their loving union, but the opportunity to see, greet, hug, laugh, and chat with so many cousins who we rarely see. It was such a relief not coming together to mourn the passing of one more of our aunts or uncles – rather it was an occasion for me to recall some memories of one of our most exceptional uncles (even though I might get some facts and dates wrong).
My Uncle Kādo was the 10th of the fourteen children of Jesus and Maria Delgado. As I remember him from the glossy filter of my childhood, he seemed to occupy a variety of personae, or roles in his life: bad boy and seminarian; playboy and sportsman; sailor and pilot; photographer and businessman; and finally, husband, father, and grandfather. I couldn’t imagine a life filled with more twists and turns, laughs and sighs, struggles and victories, tears and surprises, and finally Love. First, you have to laugh at his nicknames: it was originally Kādo (pet name for Ricardo); and then it became King Kādo – like King Richard the Lionheart. Few people would have the arrogance to adopt a royal name, but Kādo did, and he got away with it. My grandmother and my own mother, on the other hand, called him by his full name Ricardo, and then mostly when they were scolding him (which was often in his youth).
I’m sure that my first impressions of Kādo were influenced by my Uncle Charlie, who was the youngest of eight brothers. Charlie thought Kādo was “cool” – just the right mixture of bad boy rebel, smooth playboy, light-hearted scamp, and charismatic leader of a gang of high school buddies and friends. I remember him wearing a faded leather jacket over a white tee shirt and believed the rumor that he once worked as a truck driver like Elvis Presley. It was only many years later that I learned that this supposedly “bad boy” had actually attended a Catholic junior seminary, intending to become a priest, and then transferred to the all-boys Cathedral High School in Los Angeles, where he graduated. Yet, even though he seemed to live in a world of high school buddies, dating, and dances, he always made time for Charlie and me. I remember spending afternoons in the upstairs bedroom he shared with Charlie, reading his comics, and listening to stories of his friends and adventures.
Kādo was a natural and gifted sportsman. Even though I don’t think he played varsity sports in high school, he was an avid player of all the traditional playground and CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) sports, like football, basketball, and softball, and he also dabbled in eccentric ones (kite flying and horseshoes). At one point he and his older brother Henry (Enrique) organized a CYO athletic club called The Die Hards. It was a motley team composed of high school friends, family members, and an occasional “ringer”, who got together as often as they could to compete in a variety of intramural, park league sports. Charlie was my main source of information about this team with the unusual name, and which seemed to lose more games than they won. I remember watching them play touch-football and softball at various times during my childhood days, and longing to be old enough to join them. My Uncle Henry was the president of the club, and although he and Kādo were co-captains, Kādo was the best athlete. I think Kādo told me that… along with his explanation of how they came up with such a crazy team name:
“Listen, J.R.,” he said, calling me by the initials for ‘junior’. “A team name is important because it describes to our opponents, and the rest of the league, how we compete. We’re a collection of brothers, in-laws, cousins, and friends who play with passion and heart because we love the game. We may not be the best athletes or the strongest players, but we are going to give all we have and never give up. We’re like the ancient Aztecs of Mexico, or the revolutionary soldiers of Emiliano Zapata, who didn’t fear death when they fought against superior odds. They were never defeated, even when they lost, because they never gave up and they died hard. You can’t lose when you don’t surrender – even if the other team has more points at the end of the game. That is what our name says about us – we may not always win, but we never lose. Only quitters lose, and we’re the Die Hards – we never give up.”
What I loved most about Kādo was that he was always ready to join Charlie and me in neighborhood pickup games on nearby parking lots, or in the front and backyards of their home on Workman Avenue. He and Charlie introduced me to the games of horseshoes and kite flying. Kado was a master at horseshoes, and he showed me how to pitch them and keep score; but he was an artist at kite flying. I never saw Kādo buy a commercial kite kit. He would build his own, and he made them bigger and better than store-bought ones. His kites were made of light bamboo sticks tied into a cross as tall as I was, covered with coarse tissue paper, and anchored with a streaming tail of cloth strips. It was so big I couldn’t believe it would fly – but it did! Up, up, and up it floated on the updrafts that Kādo found, until the kite hovered overhead, sustaining itself in the sky. Once aloft, he would fasten written messages on flimsy paper that he attached to the string and launched them upward to the receiving kite. These childhood activities came to a temporary halt when Kādo joined the Navy and left home for a few years.
The military is a rite of passage that matures everyone who joins or is drafted. You enter as a youth, and you exit as an adult. Kādo was a different person when he returned home from the Navy. He was still joyous and spirited in his approach to life and sports, but there was a new aura of maturity about him that impressed my father (his oldest brother) and my mother. Kādo had served as a Navy photographer while in the service and was now interested in pursuing it as a profession. At the time my father was managing a commercial photography studio in Culver City, near our new home in Venice. He had faith that this newly matured Kādo could learn and master all the skills and techniques of commercial photography, and he convinced the owner to hire him on trial. I recall many evenings when Kādo would join our family for dinner after work, and then he and my father would return to the studio to practice the advanced professional skills and techniques that Kādo needed to master. From that time forward, my dad and Kādo remained close as brothers and professionals; and there would come a day, before my dad died, that he admitted to me, with no lack of pride, that Kādo had developed into a much better photographer than he.
Another thing that changed after the Navy, and his job as a professional photographer, was his interest in one particular girl. I always viewed Kādo as a “ladies man” and confirmed bachelor who flirted outrageously and dated many girls – but Joie was the first girl I saw that he brought home to meet his parents, siblings, nephews, and nieces. I thought Joie was stunningly beautiful and charmingly sweet. There was still enough of the “bad boy” in Kādo for me to wonder how he managed to convince this wholesome young woman to marry him – but he did. In 1962, with my brother Arthur and I as altar boys, Kādo and Joie were wed at Sacred Heart Church in Lincoln Heights. It was a fine ceremony (even though Kādo did get a case of the shakes when it came time for him to profess his vows to Joie), followed by a fabulous reception with pollo con mole as the signature serving. However, marriage did not tame Kādo – in many ways it set him free to pursue further avenues of growth and self-expression. He used his G.I. Bill grant to take flying lessons and received his license to fly single-wing aircraft, and he went into business for himself. I can’t imagine two more terrifying activities. Of all his brothers and sisters, Kādo was the first and only one to begin his own commercial enterprise by establishing an independent color photography studio.
All these memories and images came flooding back to me last month as I watched Kādo and Joie renewing their marriage vows in front of a large gathering of their children, grandchildren, relatives, and friends. So many years had passed since their first meeting, but as they sat there on the stage, holding hands, and repeating their vows, they seemed to glow with happiness, and they looked as young and innocent as they did in that summer of 1962. The young bride had faith in her choice of a husband, and the “playboy” scamp had proven everybody wrong. He had evolved to become a model of what men, husbands, and fathers can become when they take St. Paul’s words in Corinthians 13:4 to heart: Love “always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves… love never fails”. For me, Kādo and Joie will always seem the way they did on their wedding day and they will remain forever young.
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever Young, forever young
May you stay forever young.
(Forever Young: Bob Dylan – 1973)
Last month, I attended the 60th Wedding Anniversary of my Uncle Kādo (Ricardo) and his lovely bride Joie. It was a joyous and festive family affair that allowed the large Delgado clan to come together to celebrate the partnership and marriage of the eldest of 3 surviving siblings of Jesus and Maria Delgado’s 14 children. What made it uniquely notable was not only the longevity of their loving union, but the opportunity to see, greet, hug, laugh, and chat with so many cousins who we rarely see. It was such a relief not coming together to mourn the passing of one more of our aunts or uncles – rather it was an occasion for me to recall some memories of one of our most exceptional uncles (even though I might get some facts and dates wrong).
My Uncle Kādo was the 10th of the fourteen children of Jesus and Maria Delgado. As I remember him from the glossy filter of my childhood, he seemed to occupy a variety of personae, or roles in his life: bad boy and seminarian; playboy and sportsman; sailor and pilot; photographer and businessman; and finally, husband, father, and grandfather. I couldn’t imagine a life filled with more twists and turns, laughs and sighs, struggles and victories, tears and surprises, and finally Love. First, you have to laugh at his nicknames: it was originally Kādo (pet name for Ricardo); and then it became King Kādo – like King Richard the Lionheart. Few people would have the arrogance to adopt a royal name, but Kādo did, and he got away with it. My grandmother and my own mother, on the other hand, called him by his full name Ricardo, and then mostly when they were scolding him (which was often in his youth).
I’m sure that my first impressions of Kādo were influenced by my Uncle Charlie, who was the youngest of eight brothers. Charlie thought Kādo was “cool” – just the right mixture of bad boy rebel, smooth playboy, light-hearted scamp, and charismatic leader of a gang of high school buddies and friends. I remember him wearing a faded leather jacket over a white tee shirt and believed the rumor that he once worked as a truck driver like Elvis Presley. It was only many years later that I learned that this supposedly “bad boy” had actually attended a Catholic junior seminary, intending to become a priest, and then transferred to the all-boys Cathedral High School in Los Angeles, where he graduated. Yet, even though he seemed to live in a world of high school buddies, dating, and dances, he always made time for Charlie and me. I remember spending afternoons in the upstairs bedroom he shared with Charlie, reading his comics, and listening to stories of his friends and adventures.
Kādo was a natural and gifted sportsman. Even though I don’t think he played varsity sports in high school, he was an avid player of all the traditional playground and CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) sports, like football, basketball, and softball, and he also dabbled in eccentric ones (kite flying and horseshoes). At one point he and his older brother Henry (Enrique) organized a CYO athletic club called The Die Hards. It was a motley team composed of high school friends, family members, and an occasional “ringer”, who got together as often as they could to compete in a variety of intramural, park league sports. Charlie was my main source of information about this team with the unusual name, and which seemed to lose more games than they won. I remember watching them play touch-football and softball at various times during my childhood days, and longing to be old enough to join them. My Uncle Henry was the president of the club, and although he and Kādo were co-captains, Kādo was the best athlete. I think Kādo told me that… along with his explanation of how they came up with such a crazy team name:
“Listen, J.R.,” he said, calling me by the initials for ‘junior’. “A team name is important because it describes to our opponents, and the rest of the league, how we compete. We’re a collection of brothers, in-laws, cousins, and friends who play with passion and heart because we love the game. We may not be the best athletes or the strongest players, but we are going to give all we have and never give up. We’re like the ancient Aztecs of Mexico, or the revolutionary soldiers of Emiliano Zapata, who didn’t fear death when they fought against superior odds. They were never defeated, even when they lost, because they never gave up and they died hard. You can’t lose when you don’t surrender – even if the other team has more points at the end of the game. That is what our name says about us – we may not always win, but we never lose. Only quitters lose, and we’re the Die Hards – we never give up.”
What I loved most about Kādo was that he was always ready to join Charlie and me in neighborhood pickup games on nearby parking lots, or in the front and backyards of their home on Workman Avenue. He and Charlie introduced me to the games of horseshoes and kite flying. Kado was a master at horseshoes, and he showed me how to pitch them and keep score; but he was an artist at kite flying. I never saw Kādo buy a commercial kite kit. He would build his own, and he made them bigger and better than store-bought ones. His kites were made of light bamboo sticks tied into a cross as tall as I was, covered with coarse tissue paper, and anchored with a streaming tail of cloth strips. It was so big I couldn’t believe it would fly – but it did! Up, up, and up it floated on the updrafts that Kādo found, until the kite hovered overhead, sustaining itself in the sky. Once aloft, he would fasten written messages on flimsy paper that he attached to the string and launched them upward to the receiving kite. These childhood activities came to a temporary halt when Kādo joined the Navy and left home for a few years.
The military is a rite of passage that matures everyone who joins or is drafted. You enter as a youth, and you exit as an adult. Kādo was a different person when he returned home from the Navy. He was still joyous and spirited in his approach to life and sports, but there was a new aura of maturity about him that impressed my father (his oldest brother) and my mother. Kādo had served as a Navy photographer while in the service and was now interested in pursuing it as a profession. At the time my father was managing a commercial photography studio in Culver City, near our new home in Venice. He had faith that this newly matured Kādo could learn and master all the skills and techniques of commercial photography, and he convinced the owner to hire him on trial. I recall many evenings when Kādo would join our family for dinner after work, and then he and my father would return to the studio to practice the advanced professional skills and techniques that Kādo needed to master. From that time forward, my dad and Kādo remained close as brothers and professionals; and there would come a day, before my dad died, that he admitted to me, with no lack of pride, that Kādo had developed into a much better photographer than he.
Another thing that changed after the Navy, and his job as a professional photographer, was his interest in one particular girl. I always viewed Kādo as a “ladies man” and confirmed bachelor who flirted outrageously and dated many girls – but Joie was the first girl I saw that he brought home to meet his parents, siblings, nephews, and nieces. I thought Joie was stunningly beautiful and charmingly sweet. There was still enough of the “bad boy” in Kādo for me to wonder how he managed to convince this wholesome young woman to marry him – but he did. In 1962, with my brother Arthur and I as altar boys, Kādo and Joie were wed at Sacred Heart Church in Lincoln Heights. It was a fine ceremony (even though Kādo did get a case of the shakes when it came time for him to profess his vows to Joie), followed by a fabulous reception with pollo con mole as the signature serving. However, marriage did not tame Kādo – in many ways it set him free to pursue further avenues of growth and self-expression. He used his G.I. Bill grant to take flying lessons and received his license to fly single-wing aircraft, and he went into business for himself. I can’t imagine two more terrifying activities. Of all his brothers and sisters, Kādo was the first and only one to begin his own commercial enterprise by establishing an independent color photography studio.
All these memories and images came flooding back to me last month as I watched Kādo and Joie renewing their marriage vows in front of a large gathering of their children, grandchildren, relatives, and friends. So many years had passed since their first meeting, but as they sat there on the stage, holding hands, and repeating their vows, they seemed to glow with happiness, and they looked as young and innocent as they did in that summer of 1962. The young bride had faith in her choice of a husband, and the “playboy” scamp had proven everybody wrong. He had evolved to become a model of what men, husbands, and fathers can become when they take St. Paul’s words in Corinthians 13:4 to heart: Love “always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves… love never fails”. For me, Kādo and Joie will always seem the way they did on their wedding day and they will remain forever young.
