Carlos Enrique Diaz Cisternas 1918-2005
My grandfather, my Tata Carlos born September 5th, passed away this morning, April 17th at 07:30. He was 86.
He leaves behind two daughters and one son (my father -Carlos Jr II) 6 grandchildren, one great grandchild and many many saddened relatives on both sides of the family. His side and his wife's and my mother's family and so many others whose lives he touched. My grandmother, his wife, Leticia passed away 11 years ago at age 67. My grandfather was never the same again.
He worked hard all his life. The second youngest of 18 brothers and sisters, he left school at age 11 to work to support the family. He could read and write a little, but not much. He pushed my father relentlessly to do well in school and to his eternal joy and great pride, his son, my father graduated University with top honours and got a job tracking satellites for NASA. He wasn't very affectionate with his own kids growing up, but he was with his grandkids. He told me how proud he was of my father, of how very special a boy he had been. I passed this on to my father, who had never heard those words himself from a man who's emotions seemed hardened by life and work. In his later life, he opened up. When I met him again at age 77, he was playful and always laughing, especially at himself. When he would swear in English, not really knowing what he was saying, phrases he learned from American miners 50 years previous. His eyebrows would go up and his jaw would drop, then he would apologize profusely to my mother and her mother, before breaking into laughter.
Even when he was alone, he was laughing or whistling as he washed dishes, pulled weeds in the garden and sometimes during our television programs, he would hear a commercial jingle and be dancing in the kitchen along with them as he rinsed the dinner plates.
Every morning he prepared us scrambled eggs and orange juice. He arose with the sun and tried to make everything perfect for everyone. We watched and made movies together. One in particular where my little sister dressed him up like Rambo, in my sleeveless jean jacket and a black sash around his head, and he was to rob her at gunpoint in my parents bedroom (it passed for a bank in our minds). I was the camera man. He was supposed to shoot her when she refused. But Tata would instead say, 'Why No?!' and when Susy laughed at him, he would stop and apologize for screwing up the film. On the second take, she cried 'no!' and he said, and I quote: 'Gimme some money, you bitch.' and I dropped the camera holding my gut. Susy was in tears and through her laughter explained that this was a very bad thing to say. I think she had taught him to say it but hadn't explained it till afterwards. Anyway, he was aghast after learning what it meant and refused to say it again. He told me to delete the tape. But it was too funny, so I didn't. Sorry Tata.
In the final take, He held out his gun, said, 'gimme some money' and she said, 'no' and pulled out a gun and shot HIM instead. As he crumpled to the ground, surprised as I was that Susy had turned the tables on him but improvising through it, he cried, 'oh! you chicken shit!' and proceeded to shoot her back. We watched that tape till it wore out, I might still have it somewhere.
I remember my grandfather for dancing in a circle and tapping his open mouth with his palm and chanting, 'Hi how are ya, hi how are ya' to imitate the native americans in his favourite cowboy movies. I remember that when I tapped a glass with a knife and then the plate to make music at dinner time, my own father admonished me, but my grandfather dutifully took up his spoon and fork and began the accompaniment.
I remember that he wanted to help my father with landscaping since all the neighbours had beautiful lawns and he dug a five foot long, three foot deep trench in our front yard one day, while everyone was at work- much to my father's chagrin. He had said something to my Tata about it, but didn't mention he couldn't afford the shrubbery or trees to fill any hole with. This still makes me laugh. And I remember my grandfather telling me a dirty joke about a guy and a camel stranded on a desert island on our first night as roommates. I remember that he would remove his false teeth at night and then whistle for us through his lips, a warbled song of his own creation. Then laugh along with us at his own joke.
One of my friends commented, "now I know where you got your laugh." I'll never forget his laugh. It's a gift I cherish, and if mine sounds like his, it's the greatest gift he could have given me. I'm sorry that he had to suffer so much in his last years, with paranoia and something like alzheimer's and that his last week was in a bed attached to so many machines. But I'm so happy, so glad that he got to see my father one last time as I'm sure my father is as well. Happy that he passed with family standing strongly by him and being greatly cared for and loved. I hope that somewhere he and my grandmother are together again, happy and still in love.
I hope that sometimes, he will visit me in my dreams, so that we can share another laugh together.
Carlos Diaz III
He leaves behind two daughters and one son (my father -Carlos Jr II) 6 grandchildren, one great grandchild and many many saddened relatives on both sides of the family. His side and his wife's and my mother's family and so many others whose lives he touched. My grandmother, his wife, Leticia passed away 11 years ago at age 67. My grandfather was never the same again.
He worked hard all his life. The second youngest of 18 brothers and sisters, he left school at age 11 to work to support the family. He could read and write a little, but not much. He pushed my father relentlessly to do well in school and to his eternal joy and great pride, his son, my father graduated University with top honours and got a job tracking satellites for NASA. He wasn't very affectionate with his own kids growing up, but he was with his grandkids. He told me how proud he was of my father, of how very special a boy he had been. I passed this on to my father, who had never heard those words himself from a man who's emotions seemed hardened by life and work. In his later life, he opened up. When I met him again at age 77, he was playful and always laughing, especially at himself. When he would swear in English, not really knowing what he was saying, phrases he learned from American miners 50 years previous. His eyebrows would go up and his jaw would drop, then he would apologize profusely to my mother and her mother, before breaking into laughter.
Even when he was alone, he was laughing or whistling as he washed dishes, pulled weeds in the garden and sometimes during our television programs, he would hear a commercial jingle and be dancing in the kitchen along with them as he rinsed the dinner plates.
Every morning he prepared us scrambled eggs and orange juice. He arose with the sun and tried to make everything perfect for everyone. We watched and made movies together. One in particular where my little sister dressed him up like Rambo, in my sleeveless jean jacket and a black sash around his head, and he was to rob her at gunpoint in my parents bedroom (it passed for a bank in our minds). I was the camera man. He was supposed to shoot her when she refused. But Tata would instead say, 'Why No?!' and when Susy laughed at him, he would stop and apologize for screwing up the film. On the second take, she cried 'no!' and he said, and I quote: 'Gimme some money, you bitch.' and I dropped the camera holding my gut. Susy was in tears and through her laughter explained that this was a very bad thing to say. I think she had taught him to say it but hadn't explained it till afterwards. Anyway, he was aghast after learning what it meant and refused to say it again. He told me to delete the tape. But it was too funny, so I didn't. Sorry Tata.
In the final take, He held out his gun, said, 'gimme some money' and she said, 'no' and pulled out a gun and shot HIM instead. As he crumpled to the ground, surprised as I was that Susy had turned the tables on him but improvising through it, he cried, 'oh! you chicken shit!' and proceeded to shoot her back. We watched that tape till it wore out, I might still have it somewhere.
I remember my grandfather for dancing in a circle and tapping his open mouth with his palm and chanting, 'Hi how are ya, hi how are ya' to imitate the native americans in his favourite cowboy movies. I remember that when I tapped a glass with a knife and then the plate to make music at dinner time, my own father admonished me, but my grandfather dutifully took up his spoon and fork and began the accompaniment.
I remember that he wanted to help my father with landscaping since all the neighbours had beautiful lawns and he dug a five foot long, three foot deep trench in our front yard one day, while everyone was at work- much to my father's chagrin. He had said something to my Tata about it, but didn't mention he couldn't afford the shrubbery or trees to fill any hole with. This still makes me laugh. And I remember my grandfather telling me a dirty joke about a guy and a camel stranded on a desert island on our first night as roommates. I remember that he would remove his false teeth at night and then whistle for us through his lips, a warbled song of his own creation. Then laugh along with us at his own joke.
One of my friends commented, "now I know where you got your laugh." I'll never forget his laugh. It's a gift I cherish, and if mine sounds like his, it's the greatest gift he could have given me. I'm sorry that he had to suffer so much in his last years, with paranoia and something like alzheimer's and that his last week was in a bed attached to so many machines. But I'm so happy, so glad that he got to see my father one last time as I'm sure my father is as well. Happy that he passed with family standing strongly by him and being greatly cared for and loved. I hope that somewhere he and my grandmother are together again, happy and still in love.
I hope that sometimes, he will visit me in my dreams, so that we can share another laugh together.
Carlos Diaz III
posted by Carlos at
4/17/2005 11:06:00 PM
|
1 comments
