nasura moi

I don’t have many vivid memories of my early childhood. What I can dredge up when I try hard enough are simply fragments or vignettes with little context of what my life was like at the time. Usually these are moments that were impactful enough to be permanently stored in my subconscious because they taught me a lesson, good or bad, that would help me survive in the future. When I think of my grandfather, only one memory ever comes up: me making him angry and getting struck in the face, followed by blood running down my mouth.

It’s a very short memory. I must have been maybe 4 or 5 years old and I was in my grandparent’s house, where I spent most of early childhood. The day was like any other, sunny and warm. I remember the cool marble flooring that helped make the heat bearable and the cerulean colored walls of the living room. I was on the floor, likely playing or just hanging around. My grandfather was nearby, likely sitting in his chair. This is where it starts to get a bit hazy. What I did or said to warrant getting hit, I’m not sure. My best recollection is that I simply said something disrespectful to him, and that was enough to deserve it.

He came from a different era, that much was clear to me. An era where a child should never disrespect an older authority figure, even as a joke or by mistake. The blow came quick and automatic, as if rehearsed for these very kinds of situations of children getting out of line. I remember how fast it all happened, the shock of the impact on my fragile little face, and the sting I felt seconds later. Then followed by the blood flowing from my lip as I touched it instinctively. I don’t remember crying when it happened, that wasn’t what went through my mind. It was more a sense of spite and resentment, because I felt I didn’t deserve it.

That’s what I do remember, but what I don’t remember is a bit more painful. I don’t remember anyone stopping him from doing it, I don’t remember anyone stepping in to protect me, quite the opposite in fact. I remember the adults around me reinforcing his behavior and reminding me that I shouldn’t have disrespected him, and to never do it again. I was wrong, and they were all right. I “learned” my lesson that day, and my grandfather never hit me ever again. As he lies in a hospital bed right now, with maybe days or hours left before his life ends from the complications of age and disease, I wish I had a better early memory of him.

As I grew older and would spend small slivers of time with him during vacation trips to the family home, things were better. We could joke and laugh and he would play his guitar and come up with elaborate rhymes. I once brought him an old purple sweater of mine that I had outgrown as a teen and he loved it so much that he’s had it for over a decade. He would wear it all the time when we talked over video chat. Due to Covid, I am not going to be able to see him in person before he’s gone. The last time we spoke was last week and it was a brief exchange to wish him well over video.

I have no ill will towards my grandfather. If I had the power to cure him right now I would, because I know how much he means to my family back home. While I grew up distant from him, he was always there in the background and was a stable piece of my upbringing in his own small way. If this is really the end for him, I hope his passing is peaceful and that he can find much joy in his next life. I do not condone what he did to me that one fateful day so many years ago, but I don’t judge him for it either because he’s a flawed person like everyone else. I wish I didn’t even have that vivid memory today, because maybe it would help me to grieve more easily for him. But life sometimes puts us in these uncomfortable positions, and all we can really do is just accept it.

So what was the singular lesson I learned from him? It wasn’t to respect authority, since his action just made me feel stronger in my conviction that authority has no place in this world and that no one is above anyone else. No, the lesson he left me with was that we all need to be careful with the impressions we leave on each other. Memory is a strong and involuntary act, and unfortunately once you create it in someone else, it takes on a life of it’s own that you can’t control. In a lot of cases, your memory will outlive you, so try your best to make sure you leave one full of kindness and compassion in the lives of those you care about.