(Picture ofGrandpa and my dad.)
Dear Grandpa,
It has been years since you’ve passed away, and so much has changed. You came to the United States from Guadalajara, México to live a better life. You met my grandma in Los Angeles, then went back to México to live with her, but then returned to the United States to raise six wonderful kids. They went on to have kids, and then their children now have children. I’ve come close to some of your grandchildren, and they are reflecting well on the American dream. You made an excellent choice coming here to the U.S. Thank you for your sacrifice and hard work.
As a curious boy, I always asked my dad what you were like. He told me you used to take your kids to the beach every Sunday and my grandma used to prepare sandwiches for everybody. You used to sit on a chair for hours on your day off with the binoculars in your hand, and you looked at the view for a while. He also told me you worked at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego for years and got to meet a lot of famous people.
You used to shine your shoes every day, wearing ties daily to your job site and looked like a handsome gentleman. I’ve used your valet shoe shine box many times, and now I have a huge collection of bow ties. I’m following your footsteps, Grandpa, but I’m trying to take it to higher levels. I’m currently typing this in a library at a university in Davis, California. I’ve come across many immigrant stories from my classmates, and I didn’t appreciate yours as much until I deeply thought about the idea that you had to leave your country in search of a better life.
It was not easy, Grandpa; I know it wasn’t. You wanted the best for your children, and now they have it. You passed away right after your retirement because of the stress--accumulation you carried on your shoulders every day for almost half a century. It’s rough to say it ended that way, but I want to reiterate the fact that your family line has thrived and taken advantage of your sacrifices to raise beautiful families. Unfortunately, I never got the opportunity to meet you; however, I did meet you through the many stories my dad has told me. Some of my family members even tell me you were like my dad, so technically I have met you. My dad and I were lucky enough to get your name and now it’s my turn to take our name and continue to add history to it.
It would’ve been nice if I met you, but that’s the past, so now I’m writing to you about the present. Like I said, many years have passed and your family has expanded. I’m actually a musician! I’m 100 times better on the drums, but I can also play the guitar. My grandma told me that music was everything to you. Trios from the 1950s were your favorite, especially Los Panchos. She got to listen to you sing several times, and told me you had a wonderful voice. I’ve gotten close to learning one of their songs for you on the guitar. I also heard you used to write romantic pieces and poems; now I know where I get my writing skills from.
There’s so much I have learned throughout the years about you, but my personal favorite was that your wife and kids meant the world to you. I admire everything about you, but this one seals the deal. Now I know why your children are so united. I love the legacy you left behind, and now it’s my time to tell your story to my children in the future. Rest in peace Grandpa, Chava, Salvador, Chavita, or Sal. Although I never had the chance to meet you, I am striving to adhere to your admirable characteristics, and I'm hoping they rub off on me one day. I hope to see you one day in Paradise; hopefully, by then I have learned a song by Los Panchos.
With much love,
Your grandson Sal Lira
