dedalus_1947 | Celebrate and Rejoice (Reply)

“My son, you are here with me always;

Everything I have is yours.

But now we must celebrate and rejoice,

Because your brother was dead

And has come to life again;

He was lost and has been found”.

(Parable of the Prodigal Son: Luke 15: 31-32)

“Stel, who’s that buff guy wearing the blue shirt?” I asked my sister, Estela, nodding toward the back of the dining room.

“I’m not sure” she said, following my glance to observe a tall, strongly built man in a bright blue shirt and white Bermuda shorts. There was something oddly familiar about him, but I couldn’t tell what it was, or who he was. He had arrived with many loud greetings from some of my younger cousins and their spouses.

“Is he someone’s husband?” I pressed, hoping to jar her memory.

“I don’t have a clue” she concluded, with a hint of irritation at my persistence. I gave up for the moment, certain that the identity of the mystery man would be revealed in the course of the luncheon.

My sisters, Stela and Gracie, and I were at the Almansor Country Club to bid farewell to our youngest aunt Espee (Esperanza) and her husband Larry. They were a retired couple who had finally sold their home in Huntington Beach and were moving to Tennessee to be near their daughter and her family. Actually, Espee’s original idea was to have the farewell party at her house; but the venue had been changed to accommodate her older siblings (my aunts and uncles) who lived closer to the San Gabriel Valley. The occasion had also been hijacked to celebrate the 66^th birthday of my uncle Charlie. This mixing of intentions momentarily refracted the reason for the party, but it soon refocused on a single theme – reunion. The sparks generated by the joyous surprise of seeing long absent cousins, aunts, and uncles lit up the dining hall; and the pounding energy of Mexican-style saludos y abrazos (hugs and greetings) filled the room with raucous gaiety. I was struck by how much I’d missed these long lost relatives.

Over the last 25 years I had grown more and more estranged from my father’s Mexican-American family. I was out of town for the funeral of my uncle Tarsicio in 2007 (see Weddings and Funerals); and the last time I attended a large scale family gathering was an “official” reunion picnic in 2001. The death of my father in 1971 was the first tear in the family fabric that bound me to my grandparents and their offspring (my aunts and uncles). By the time abuelito and abuelita died in the 1980’s, only the narrowest threads of communication still linked us. In the early days of our marriage, Kathy would ask me if I wished to include my uncles, aunts, and cousins to birthdays and seasonal celebrations. She would give me a look of incomprehension when I mumbled that it was too much trouble to call and track them down. I suspected that my ambivalence bewildered her, since she did not have any extended family living nearby. Her father was an only child with no siblings, and her mother’s family all lived in Connecticut. She finally gave up asking me. Privately, I sometimes wondered what became of the uncles, aunts, and cousins to whom I was so tightly bound at one time.

During the first hour of our arrival at Almansor, I circumnavigated the elongated dining room twice; greeting, reminiscing, and photographing my aunts, uncles, and a few of the most familiar cousins. Except for Victor, who was ill, all nine of my father’s surviving siblings were present that day. Gracie, Stela, and I sat at a table with our cradle cousin, Tessie (Teresa, the oldest daughter of Fausto and Jovita), and her husband, Danny. Once the salads were served at the table, the blue shirted stranger reappeared and pointed at an empty seat next to me.

“Is anyone sitting here?” he asked.

“No” we replied in unison.

“Great” he said, “I’ll be right back”.

“Who is that guy?” I asked in loud exasperation. This time I looked toward Tessie for assistance.

“That’s Raul!” she said, in shocked surprise at my ignorance.

“You mean Tooteez!” I cried, pronouncing his childhood nickname (2T’s).

“Yes” she repeated. “That’s Lupe’s son, Raul”.

At that moment he returned holding a salad plate and silverware in one hand, and a glass of tea in the other. Next to him came an attractive, blonde haired, lady in a suit skirt and blouse.

“Jan” he said, nodding towards us with his chin, “these are my oldest cousins”. We each quickly volunteered our names, thereby avoiding the embarrassing pauses which sometimes occur when introducing people you haven’t seen in a long time. He directed Jan to the empty seat at my left, and made himself a new place at the table. As he searched for an extra chair, I spoke with her.

“I’m Tony, the oldest of Raul’s cousins. My father was the eldest son of the family”.

“Don’t believe anything he says, Jan” Raul interrupted, returning to the table. “We called him Toñito, and he completely ignored me as a child. He’d have nothing to do with me whenever he came to the house to visit”.

I was going to protest, moving in synch with the playful banter that Raul was establishing, but stopped myself. There was much truth in what he was saying. Was he making a point, or just fooling around?

“Yeah, I have to admit, that’s true” I said, deciding to be candid. “You were the last cousin of our generational group; but you were the baby. I preferred hanging out with the older cousins, Tessie, Louie, and Stevie, and with Espee and Charlie”.

“Yeah, but Tooteez was everyone’s favorite”, chimed in Tessie, “especially Papi Chucho’s. He would take him everywhere!”

“Yeah” sighed Raul; “I remember that. Papi Chucho would spend so much time with me. I have lots of fond memories of him; going on walks, playing with him, and listening to his stories. He really loved me”.

Stela, Gracie, and I looked at each other across the table in shocked amazement at this news. Was Tooteez describing the same grouchy and irritable grandfather we knew as children?

“The only memories I have of Abuelito are of his yelling at me to get out of his study or workroom” I said. “I was afraid of him”.

“Yeah, me too” muttered Stela. “He was never very nice to us”.

“I can’t believe that” Raul said, shaking his head. “He was always gentle and kind”.

“With me too” added Tessie.

“Well, obviously we all have different memories about some people” I said, deciding to change the subject to more relevant matters. “I will admit another thing, though. I was always envious of you because you played the piano and you left home to go to college.”

“You’re kidding, you were envious of me?” Raul said, pausing from his salad to sit back and study me.

“Yeah I was. You had talent that I didn’t. Charlie never taught me to play the piano, but he taught you. You also left home to go to college; that was unheard of in our family. Sure, my brothers and sisters and I all went to UCLA and Loyola, but we lived at home. You were the first cousin to be truly independent. You were the first to make the big break. That was a big deal to me”.

”You see, Jan” Raul said lightheartedly, after weighing my confession, “I told you you’d love these cousins. They have good taste, they recognize my talents, and they’re really smart”. We all laughed and the people at the table spent the next hour chatting. I was very interested in filling in the informational gaps I had with Tooteez. I’d lost touch with him after he left home, and I was curious to discover what had happened since.

In talking and listening to Raul in the course of our meal, I was struck by 3 things; his sense of humor, the separation of our families from our parent’s East Los Angeles roots, and his writing. He told stories of his parents, siblings and family in a candid and humorous fashion. His comic style was very similar to the sardonic and self-deprecating manner that my wife Kathy, and her Irish-American brothers and sisters use. I believed it was a humorous way of exorcising painful aspects of growing up and family dynamics. There was also the parallel manner in which our family had become estranged from our parent’s family, history, and culture. We had little contact with our uncles, aunts, and cousins; and our children (Raul had three and I two) were largely unaware of our relatives, their East Los Angeles roots, and Chicano traditions. The third item was the trajectory of our careers and our common interest in writing. We attended college, served in the armed forces, and chose careers which led to administrative positions. Raul attended the California State University at Humboldt (Humboldt State), enlisted in the United States Coast Guard, and in 1980, joined the Seattle Fire Department. Over the course of 28 years, he promoted through the ranks, eventually becoming Captain of a Fire Company and a professional instructor and lecturer. His publishing credits were impressive. I had assumed that I was the only writer in the family, but it was satisfying to find a relative who shared my passion. Raul had published many stories and articles in a variety of professional journals and online websites, and now he was thinking of a book.

Singing Happy Birthday and cutting the cake for Charlie served as a natural transition from lunch. I visited a few more tables and then settled down to chat with Charlie, Espee, her husband Larry, and Liza. I’d brought along an old photo to show, and Charlie recognized it as a trip with my Dad and Mom to Mount Wilson. He recalled it as a spontaneous decision to see the snow with his young family. Because my dad forgot to bring tire chains, we only went as far as the snow line. There we piled out of the car to ride the toboggan we had carried on top of the car. The photograph was the only trace of the adventure. I asked my aunts and uncle to help me restage the photo. Joking and laughing, we lined up the chairs and arranged ourselves in the same order as that wintry day in the 1950’s. These were my earliest friends, teachers, and models (see Nacimiento Stories). I felt a twinge of nostalgia for those faraway days and the wonder of seeing snow for the first time. Tooteez volunteered to take the picture, and he shushed us into silence so he could direct. Eventually he managed to pose us for three shots. We knew it was a worthwhile effort when Tooteez cried “Great!”

Later, as I left the banquet hall, I mentally reviewed the names of my 14 aunts and uncles, from oldest to youngest. One day I plan to fill out the rest of their family information: dates of birth, spouses, and children. Until then, consider this my first installment of our family history.