Sometimes We Cry
Oct. 4th, 2015 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947Sometimes we know, sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes we give, sometimes we won’t.
Sometimes we’re strong, sometimes we’re wrong.
Sometimes we cry.
Sometimes it’s bad when the going gets tough,
When we look in the mirror and we want to give up.
Sometimes we don’t even think we’ll try.
Sometimes we cry.
Well we’re gonna have to sit down and think it right through.
If we’re only human what more can we do?
The only thing to do is eat humble pie.
Sometimes we cry.
Before they put me in a jacket, and they take me away,
I’m not gonna fake it like Johnnie Ray.
Sometimes we live. Sometimes we die.
Sometimes we cry.
(Sometimes We Cry: Van Morrison – 1997)
The earliest and clearest image I have of Fausto Garcia is from a photo on the day of his wedding to my Aunt Jovita (Jay Jay) in 1953. He’s lounging on the lawn with one arm around Jay, a debonair smile on his lips, and a look of complete bliss. My twin siblings, Arthur and Stela, are also in the picture, along with our father, Tony, his sisters Helen and Lupe, and his brother Henry. Everyone is dressed in tuxedos or gowns, so they must have all been in the wedding party. Fausto looks the happiest. What I remember most about Fausto is that everyone loved him. First, I think, because Jay was so happy with him. He was such a sweet, gentle, and even tempered man. I was never sure if Jay Jay’s brothers, Hank, Tarsi, or Kado, introduced her to Fausto, or she met him first, but everyone loved him and quickly involved him in all brother and family events and activities.
After the wedding, I have a basketful of memories, scenes, and images of Fausto. I remember Fausto and my dad sitting together at the kitchen table reviewing the Meter Reader exam that Fausto was taking to begin his long career with the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. I remember cheering for him and my uncles once they formed the Diehards, a park athletic team that played football and softball in local playgrounds around Los Angeles. I remember his gracious greetings at so many Delgado Family Christmases and Thanksgivings, when the venue changed from my abuelos’ home on Workman Street in Lincoln Heights to the Garcia’s house in Alhambra. But I especially remember him for his generosity and kindness in welcoming and taking into his home so many family members in need.
Jay and Fausto always seemed the best matched couple in the family. Their temper, humor, and personalities were so similar and compatible that their names became one in its usage – Fausto n’ Jay: “We’re going to Fausto n’ Jay’s house. Fausto n’ Jay have Christmas. Helen’s at Fausto n’ Jay’s… Faust n’ Jay said this… Fausto n’ Jay did that.” The truth was Fausto and Jay were an extraordinary pair who faced and dealt with happiness and pain, and joy and struggle, with the same attitude of faith, love, and patience. Fausto was a companion, friend, and partner who was always there and never let Jay down in good times or in bad. Fausto was the model friend, husband, and father. He was a “mensch”.
My Dad once told me that when a man married a woman, he was in fact marrying her entire family. I have seen this truism played out in a few marriages, but it is not easy. The key to this transference of family love is the relationship between the husband and wife and its basis on trust, sharing, and selflessness. Fausto was the first husband I saw who embodied these virtues. When I was in the second or third grade (7 or 8 years old), my father suddenly left home on an extended 3-to-6 month trip to northern California. My mother and 4 children had to leave our home in Silver Lake and we moved in with Fausto and Jay’s family near Our Lady Help of Christians Catholic Church in Lincoln Heights. To this day I’m still unsure about where my father went and why, but I’m even more astounded at the kindness and generosity of Fausto and Jay in accepting us into their home. My memories are of a seamless merging of our two families with children, with us occupying the basement quarters. For an 8-year old, such a startling move from one house to another can be taken as a novel adventure, but for adults, the lack of privacy and space must have been incredibly inconvenient and difficult. I never felt any strain or discomfort, and I never heard any complaints or concerns of our imposition on the Garcia family. Fausto and Jay were consistently caring and considerate hosts, and their children Teresa and Albert became our special primos, or cousins.
Our family may have been the first of many, many more relatives who would be beneficiaries of Fausto and Jay’s kindness, compassion, and patience. They would repeat it countless times over the years. It would be easy to credit only Jay for this generosity, since so many of her brothers, sisters, and parents were helped by it – but I know better. One spouse cannot sustain such selfless actions. They require support. Fausto was that supporting and comforting pillar to anyone who needed him. I will never see his like again.
Unfortunately, over time I grew distant from Fausto and Jay, especially after I married and started a family of my own. I would see them at the occasional reunion or wedding, and we would greet and chat briefly. Recently it has been only at funerals. Fausto looked tired and weary when I saw him last at the Memorial Mass for my Aunt Espie in August, but he still had a smile and a greeting for me. His brown, moon-face lit up, and he radiated joy when he said, “Hello, Toñito”.
Strangely, Fausto’s passing, so soon after Espie’s death, struck me in a different way. I felt my childhood come to an end with Espie, but I sensed more of a transition with Fausto. Fausto was the first brother-in-law to become Family. Somehow his death felt like “movement” – moving from friend to spouse, from spouse to partner, from partner to father, from father to children, from one generation to the next, and from death to life. Rest in Peace, tió, I’ll never forget you.
Sometimes we give, sometimes we won’t.
Sometimes we’re strong, sometimes we’re wrong.
Sometimes we cry.
Sometimes it’s bad when the going gets tough,
When we look in the mirror and we want to give up.
Sometimes we don’t even think we’ll try.
Sometimes we cry.
Well we’re gonna have to sit down and think it right through.
If we’re only human what more can we do?
The only thing to do is eat humble pie.
Sometimes we cry.
Before they put me in a jacket, and they take me away,
I’m not gonna fake it like Johnnie Ray.
Sometimes we live. Sometimes we die.
Sometimes we cry.
(Sometimes We Cry: Van Morrison – 1997)
The earliest and clearest image I have of Fausto Garcia is from a photo on the day of his wedding to my Aunt Jovita (Jay Jay) in 1953. He’s lounging on the lawn with one arm around Jay, a debonair smile on his lips, and a look of complete bliss. My twin siblings, Arthur and Stela, are also in the picture, along with our father, Tony, his sisters Helen and Lupe, and his brother Henry. Everyone is dressed in tuxedos or gowns, so they must have all been in the wedding party. Fausto looks the happiest. What I remember most about Fausto is that everyone loved him. First, I think, because Jay was so happy with him. He was such a sweet, gentle, and even tempered man. I was never sure if Jay Jay’s brothers, Hank, Tarsi, or Kado, introduced her to Fausto, or she met him first, but everyone loved him and quickly involved him in all brother and family events and activities.
After the wedding, I have a basketful of memories, scenes, and images of Fausto. I remember Fausto and my dad sitting together at the kitchen table reviewing the Meter Reader exam that Fausto was taking to begin his long career with the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. I remember cheering for him and my uncles once they formed the Diehards, a park athletic team that played football and softball in local playgrounds around Los Angeles. I remember his gracious greetings at so many Delgado Family Christmases and Thanksgivings, when the venue changed from my abuelos’ home on Workman Street in Lincoln Heights to the Garcia’s house in Alhambra. But I especially remember him for his generosity and kindness in welcoming and taking into his home so many family members in need.
Jay and Fausto always seemed the best matched couple in the family. Their temper, humor, and personalities were so similar and compatible that their names became one in its usage – Fausto n’ Jay: “We’re going to Fausto n’ Jay’s house. Fausto n’ Jay have Christmas. Helen’s at Fausto n’ Jay’s… Faust n’ Jay said this… Fausto n’ Jay did that.” The truth was Fausto and Jay were an extraordinary pair who faced and dealt with happiness and pain, and joy and struggle, with the same attitude of faith, love, and patience. Fausto was a companion, friend, and partner who was always there and never let Jay down in good times or in bad. Fausto was the model friend, husband, and father. He was a “mensch”.
My Dad once told me that when a man married a woman, he was in fact marrying her entire family. I have seen this truism played out in a few marriages, but it is not easy. The key to this transference of family love is the relationship between the husband and wife and its basis on trust, sharing, and selflessness. Fausto was the first husband I saw who embodied these virtues. When I was in the second or third grade (7 or 8 years old), my father suddenly left home on an extended 3-to-6 month trip to northern California. My mother and 4 children had to leave our home in Silver Lake and we moved in with Fausto and Jay’s family near Our Lady Help of Christians Catholic Church in Lincoln Heights. To this day I’m still unsure about where my father went and why, but I’m even more astounded at the kindness and generosity of Fausto and Jay in accepting us into their home. My memories are of a seamless merging of our two families with children, with us occupying the basement quarters. For an 8-year old, such a startling move from one house to another can be taken as a novel adventure, but for adults, the lack of privacy and space must have been incredibly inconvenient and difficult. I never felt any strain or discomfort, and I never heard any complaints or concerns of our imposition on the Garcia family. Fausto and Jay were consistently caring and considerate hosts, and their children Teresa and Albert became our special primos, or cousins.
Our family may have been the first of many, many more relatives who would be beneficiaries of Fausto and Jay’s kindness, compassion, and patience. They would repeat it countless times over the years. It would be easy to credit only Jay for this generosity, since so many of her brothers, sisters, and parents were helped by it – but I know better. One spouse cannot sustain such selfless actions. They require support. Fausto was that supporting and comforting pillar to anyone who needed him. I will never see his like again.
Unfortunately, over time I grew distant from Fausto and Jay, especially after I married and started a family of my own. I would see them at the occasional reunion or wedding, and we would greet and chat briefly. Recently it has been only at funerals. Fausto looked tired and weary when I saw him last at the Memorial Mass for my Aunt Espie in August, but he still had a smile and a greeting for me. His brown, moon-face lit up, and he radiated joy when he said, “Hello, Toñito”.
Strangely, Fausto’s passing, so soon after Espie’s death, struck me in a different way. I felt my childhood come to an end with Espie, but I sensed more of a transition with Fausto. Fausto was the first brother-in-law to become Family. Somehow his death felt like “movement” – moving from friend to spouse, from spouse to partner, from partner to father, from father to children, from one generation to the next, and from death to life. Rest in Peace, tió, I’ll never forget you.
Timing
Date: 2015-10-04 09:41 pm (UTC)Sincerely,
TRH
firsthand
Date: 2017-02-22 08:57 pm (UTC)blanket
Date: 2017-02-28 07:41 am (UTC)unspecific
Date: 2017-03-22 03:05 am (UTC)today's
Date: 2017-04-01 10:30 pm (UTC)