grandfather, the hero

8/14/2019 grandfather, the hero

1/6

MY GRANDFATHER, MY HERO

My grandfather painstakinly digs into the soil, careful not to hurt the bulbs of the San Jose plant

while my mother and his younger brother attentively watch. Finally, Tatay (as we all call him

affectionately), lifts the bunch and divides the bulbs into the terracota pots. The wonders of lily

bulbs! One single plant now gave five separate fully grown plants. The front porch will soon be

filled with potted San Jose and the tattered house would look better because of their pure white

flowers that bloom the entire summer.

Well, Im an adult now and the scene that opened my story was almost 50 years ago (if my math

is correct), just as I have imagined how it happened based on my mothers account. Tataydied

when my mothe was only six years old, leaving my grandmother who was then only 33 and their

other three children older uncle (5), my aunt (4), and younger uncle (1). Perhaps, because my

mother was so young when they lost their father, that potting plants was the only happy memory

that she remembers doing with him. According to her, Tatayused to be a kuchero, one who

drives a horse-drawn carriage, and works part-time as a helper in a tire-trading business. It was a

difficult life, working from dusk to dawn, seven days a week just to feed a family of six. Every

night, Tataywould drop a few coins into an empty margarine canister that he used as a coin

bank, while enthusiastically telling my grandmother, that when it would become filled, they would

buy a new and bigger house. Those were very hard times but indeed, full of love, hope, and

The only surviving picture of grandfather. OurTatay,when he was in his early

thirties.


2/6


3/6

childhood stories always bring tears to my eyes. I am complaining how hard life is, but I am

already in my adult years. How could a six year old kid endure such impoverished childhood?

Soon my grandmother, our Nanay, was able to put all her children to high school by selling

candies, sweepstakes tickets, breads, and other things. My mother married my father, had me

and my two younger siblings and lived with my grandmother in the old tattered house. The old

terracota pots of San Jose became tripled in number because Nanay, never failed to cultivate and

re-pot them every now and then. I can still remember that Nanay, would use a small pitcher to

water them. She would make 3-4 trips in the sink to fill the pitcher and spend idle hours just

watering the plants and wiping their broad leaves with a cloth. How those afternoons made her so

happy while I watch with impatience. I would ask her, why dont you use a bigger pitcher? She

would just answer back with a smile.

My aunt went to Italy after graduating from high school, then migrated to Canada and soon

petitioned Nanay. My older uncle, who used to be a seaman, also settled in Canada. Whenever

that Nanaywould make an overseas call, she never failed to ask about the San Jose plants, and

if they still flower every summer. She would also remind my mother to re-pot them regularly so

that they wont be too crowded in the pots. During almost seven years that Nanay lived in

Canada, our family and younger uncle, remained in the Philippines, and transfered successively

to two different houses. Everytime that we would transfer, my mother would always tell younger

uncle to bring two pots of the San Jose and give away the rest to the neighbors. Then, when we

get to the new house, they would re-pot the plants and come summer, we would always have

pure white flowers for the altar and our dining table. I have witnessed my mother give the same

Nanay, my grandmother just

before she got married. Shewas was twenty five years old.


4/6

caring and patience that I have seen from my grandmother in tending the San Jose. Perhaps, it

was the same caring and patience that my grandfather had demonstrated when he was still alive.

After almost seven years in Canada, Nanay, succumed to cancer. Younger uncle soon migrated

to Canada two years after and my mother also followed after less than a year.

Now, I am living in a new house with my younger brother and the remaining two pots of San Jose.

As Nanaywould always remind my mother, it was my turn to do the gardening ritual that has

been handed down by Tatay. My mother has been in the United States now for almost fourteen

years, and every now and then, she would call us up and ask about the San Jose plants. In the

beginning, it would annoy me that instead of asking first how I have been in my work, she would

say,Do you water the plants everyday? It was my fathers so please take care of them. Do they

still flower? Why dont you put fertilizer? Take some photographs and send them to me.

How do I explain the impact of such a family legacy? I have realized that the name San Jose

might just be an invention of my grandfather. He called them San Jose because its flower

resembled the flower that comes with the Saint Joseph statue. I figured it out when I became a

teacher. It is actually a member of the lily family and it is a hardy plant because its bulb stores

water enabling it to survive the dry season. When I was a child, my relatives would say that I have

a green thumb because everything that I plant, grows. I want to believe it because even if I

occassionally forget watering our San Jose plants, they are still alive and never fail to bloom on

summers. Well, being a hardy plant, I think it is the best legacy that my grandfather has ever

given my family. The plants not only beautify the houses that we lived in. They symbolize the

resilience of character, flexibility, and industriousness that my grandmother has handed down to

their four children. Perhaps, by tasking me to tend to the plants, my mother would also want me

to become as hardworking and be able to endure whatever hardships that come. Just like the

San Jose plants, who have endured more than fifty years, she wanted me to face all the

challenges and continue reaching for my dreams.


5/6

As I look back on my childhood memories, I can infer that whenever that my grandmother would

take a trip to the sink to fill-up the water pitcher, she was whisphering sweet words of love to my

grandfather. She might have spent idle hours wiping the leaves while remembering their happy

times together. Nanay, never married again, nor did I hear any words of despair of how fate

played with her. She never told me any other stories about Tatayother than that the San Joses

were planted by her husband right after their wedding.

Nanayhas died almost sixteen years ago, my mother is in the US and her three younger siblings

are now in Canada. More than fifty years, afterTataypotted the few San Jose bulbs, only two

crowded pots remained in my care. With almost all of his descendants now scattered in the

North-western hemisphere, I guess I am the only one left to continue the re-potting and

reminiscing his memories, to remind my younger siblings that the San Jose plants are not just for

my gardening hobbies. They were symbols of love, hope and happiness. For every bunch that

sprout from a single bulb symbolizes the legacy of dreaming, working hard to reach for such

dreams, continue living and waiting excitedly for summer when pure white flowers would bloom.

The San Jose is the unspoken love that binds our family together.

As my homage to Tatay, I want to express my sincerest gratitude for the legacy that he has left. I

may not have known him but I am proud to say that I inherited the passion for gardening from

him. I look forward to that day, when God willing, I would have grandchildren of my own. I would

tell stories of how the San Jose plants were handed down as a legacy from my own grandfather.

Everytime that I re-pot the plants, I am filled with love and happiness, I feel such unspoken love of

The remaining two pots ofSan

Joseplants in my care.


6/6

a grandfather and his undemonstrated affection that time and space had prevented me from

experiencing. Tataydid not take away our familys hope but his passing only fueled it. God made

him an instrument to make my grandmother strong and his death taught their children to work

hard for their dreams. Saint Joseph made so many sacrifices so that he can protect Mary and

Jesus. Tatay, is the Saint Joseph of our family. He is the hero I would have met but his pure heart

made him save that businessman and in doing so, missed the opportunity of meeting me, her

eldest grandchild from her first child. But everytime I look at his plants, I know that he is guiding

me and that he would always be in my heart and in my hands. I miss Tatay so much, my

grandfather and my hero.

grandfather, the hero

Documents