Tag Archives: grandparents

As Seen On TV

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Dad found a reason to give gifts, year-round. If he had extra money in his pocket, he’d spend it on someone else, but during the holidays, he was extra generous. He would say that money was burning a hole in his pocket, so he had to spend it.

Sometimes he would gift people with cash, just to get by or to pay a bill. Sometimes he would gift people with a dozen fresh warm Shipley’s donuts or a dozen tamales and for a select few, a smoked Kentucky ham. Santa had nothing on “The Mailman.”

I don’t remember when dad started gifting me and the kids with the “As seen on TV” gifts, but it might have been around the time Julia and Olivia started commenting on those commercials when they watched TV together with Papa. They would say “ohhh, I love that” or “ohh, mom could use that.” Honestly, I didn’t think much of the products or gadgets, they seemed pretty chessy or too good to be true. For dad, he saw those ASOTV products as gifts.

He saved those ASOTV gifts for Christmas. I could not figure out where he was getting them until I went with him to a VA appointment and found a whole section at the gift shop. He told me I discovered his secret and I promised not to tell. He loved seeing the surprise on the girls faces and although chessy at first, I learned that the gift was not the product, but the love and the thought and the effort dad put into finding each one.

Even though we don’t get any more ASOTV gifts, I do still watch those informercials and although cheesy, I do think of dad and imagine him finding that just right gift in his secret isle at the VA gift shop.

Some of my favorite As Seen On TV gifts were my Snuggie, because dad always wanted me to be comfortable when I rest; Julia’s pajama jeans, which she wore ALL the time and Olivia’s chia-pets mostly because she just collected them. My all-time favorite, As Seen On TV gift, that I still use today, is the perfect brownie pan, you know the one that has perfect portion divider so every piece is a center piece. It doesn’t get any more perfect than that.

Box of Cards

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I’ve been thinking about a dad a lot these last few days. His birthday is tomorrow, September 16th and I find myself getting emotional during this time since he’s been gone. I started to think about all the celebrations we had for Father’s Day and birthdays. Those were not celebrations to be missed. No matter what was going on or where we all were in life, we all seemed to find the time to show up.

It didn’t matter if we were at a restaurant, in the backyard of someone’s house, or just sitting at his kitchen table in his apartment. He didn’t want anything fancy, just us coming together. Gatherings for dad were about celebrating him being the dad and grandpa we needed him to be, not about decorations or presents. Don’t get me wrong, there were presents of all kinds, “best dad” t-shirts, #1 Grandpa hats, coffee mugs, shoes, nice dress shirts and the occasional 6 pack of beer. He would sit back and unwrap his gifts and read every card. I do miss card shopping for Dad. I would take my time to find the right cards from me and the kids. I knew he read them all. He treasured each one, maybe more than his gifts.

A couple of years ago, I was going through some of dads things and came across a shoe box full of cards. As soon as I finished reading one card, I couldn’t stop crying.  I closed the box up and put it away for another day. I wasn’t ready.

Today, I decided to try looking through the box of cards again. I figured since I wasn’t going to be card shopping for dad, maybe I could read the carefully chosen cards for dad.

I emptied the box out and spread the cards out on the floor of his old room. I cried like a baby, then of course I sorted and organized  and then I read every card and every hand written note he saved. They were well taken care of, all looked brand-new. It was not a surprise, but I found several of his voter registration cards mixed in the box. There were also graduation invitations that he cherished and did his best to attend, even when it was hard to get around. Education came first to dad, always and he would be there to celebrate if he could.


Dad also had several “Thank You” cards for his generosity and friendship. Our former neighbors Sandy and John became friends with my dad and were always finding ways to thank him for being a good neighbor. That was dad. He would find a way to be helpful and kind to anyone. He started a neighborly tradition that whoever woke up first and picked up their newspaper from the driveway, they would take pick up their neighbors paper from their driveway and put it on their doorstep to save them steps. The funny thing was that dad was an early riser and Ms. Sandy and Mr. John were late sleepers so it was always my dad delivering their paper just like the mailman he used to be.
But the card I came across that really just epitomized dad’s pampering of people in his life was from a long-time family friend and his banker, Renee. He knew how to take care of the people who provided good service to him.


There were also cards wishing him a speedy recovery, thinking of you and welcome home that just kept the tears coming.

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How cute were the “Grandpa” cards and poster?! The kids really enjoyed picking out cards for him because they knew he enjoyed getting them.

There were so many Father’s Day and Birthday cards that were chosen just for him. It was overwhelming and beautiful all at the same time. Dad made us all feel special. He was the dad we each needed him to be, even if it wasn’t exactly at the time we needed him, he showed up anyway and then he stayed put. Dad became my anchor when I felt like I was floating away, my confidant when I felt alone in the world, my cheerleader when I doubted myself, my shoulder to cry on when my heart hurt and my example to parent with unconditional love.

I could feel all the love, admiration and appreciation jump right off of those cards and into my heart.  I wondered if that’s what dad felt and if that’s why he kept all these cards

#CollegePrepPapa

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Graduation and Father’s day collided for me this year. As much as I was happy and proud of Julia on graduation day, it felt so incomplete without dad, her Papa, sitting there with us to witness and celebrate our baby girl. I know he is with us in spirit and in our hearts, and yet it still doesn’t stop me wishing he were here with us to take that proud graduation picture. You know the one, with the him all dressed up and nicely trimmed beard and hair. I envisioned that picture of him and Julia since the day she was born.  If you follow me on Facebook, you know I post about being a mom ALL the time and especially my adventures being #CollegePrepMom. Here’s the thing, my dad taught me how to be a mom. My dad taught me how to be a wife and a sister and a friend. He was #CollegePrepDad and became #CollegePrepPapa before I knew how to be #CollegePrepMom.
I can imagine him trying to figure out what #CollegePrepDad and #CollegePrepPapa means. I imagine his saying ‘Ay mijita, what is all that # stuff??’
So here I am, an emotional mess trying to deal with all these changes and wishing I had my dad with me to help me know what to do next. Dad had been with me every step of the way with Julia. He was there when she was born and then moved in when she was a baby. He used to come in our room at night and roll her bassinet out of the room and put it next to his so he could take care of both of his babies. He fed her and dressed her and took for a walks and rides in that old red wagon. Everyone in our neighborhood knew the old man and the baby girl in red wagon. He was there to meet her at the bus stop after school and take her to swim and gymnastics classes when we couldn’t. He was there at her plays and choir programs. He was there for open houses and grandparents luncheons. He was her biggest customer for all her school fundraisers and Girl Scout cookie sales. He was there when the dreaded “tweens” hit and was the only one she would talk to or let hug her. He was there when she would run to her room and slam the door and he was the only one she allowed in to comfort her. As much as I tried, she wouldn’t let me in. In the days leading up to his death he told me, “don’t give up mijita, you gotta keep going back to her room and finding a way.” He would tell me I was too hard on her and to give her time to grow out of this phase, to be patient and forgiving and to always let her know she will be loved. The tweens years passed and so did dad when Julia turned 13. I was lost without him, but I kept going back until she let me in to her room and to her life. As always, dad had the best advice and I know things will be fine and if not, well I have three more kids to practice on and hopefully I’ll get it right with one of them. I’ve had a great role model with my very own #CollegePrepDad and #CollegePrepPapa.

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Vietnamese for Beginners

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Olivia came across a Vietnamese for Beginners book/cd set in her room the other day. She brought it to me assuming it belonged to Papa. She moved into his room after he died and she comes across some of his things here and there. She didn’t remember he bought the book/cd for her. My heart fluttered for a minute and then I reminded her about the day she told Papa she had a classmate who didn’t speak English and she wanted to learn some Vietnamese so he wouldn’t feel alone. A few weeks later, Papa gave her the book/cd to learn Vietnamese. She was so excited and grateful, but she was only in 1st grade and could barely read English. It was such a sweet gesture. I remember asking dad where and how he got the books. This was before you could click a button on your virtual shopping cart and boxes magically appeared at your door. He just smiled and said something like “I know people too..”

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We put the book/cd away and just forgot about them. Finding those books made me think about dad speaking Vietnamese. Every now and then he would share tid-bits of stories about his time in Vietnam, but what I remember him sharing was him having to learn a little bit of Vietnamese to survive. He taught me how to count to 10 in Vietnamese, and would sometimes quiz me. I could rattle those ten words off without a problem when I was a kid. Today, I can only count to three, Một Hai Ba, and I cling to those three words like a family heirloom.

Dad had this embarrassing habit of trying to start a conversation with every Vietnamese person he saw. I remember walking in with him into convenience stores or grocery stores in Fifth Ward where he lived and delivered mail for 20 years and I would stand there embarrassed as he would try to engage the cashiers in Vietnamese. Those that knew him as “Checko-The Mailman” laughed and spoke back to him, those that didn’t know him, would soon learn to know and love him. I don’t know what they talked about, it was never a very long conversation, just pleasantries I assumed.
Years later, when dad moved away from his neighborhood and moved into mine, he looked for those opportunities to engage with cashier, Vietnamese or not. He was just a talker and sometimes he got a response, and sometimes, he didn’t. He was no longer “Checko-The Mailman” and I could tell he missed the small talk.

In my neighborhood, on the other side of Houston, he would sit out on my front porch and waive to people as they walked their dogs or took powerwalks at 6am. Again, some people waived back, and some people didn’t, but he kept waiving each time they passed in front of our house.
On the day our new neighbors moved in down the street, I remember my dad saying “I think I know them.” I remember feeling like that embarrassed kid standing next to him as he spoke to the cashier in Vietnamese. I told him, “Dad, are you saying that because they are Vietnamese?” He knew I didn’t believe him.

A few days later, he told me about his encounter with our new neighbors. He said there was a lady who would go walking in the morning and he recognized her as a cashier from his old neighborhood. So, of course, my dad tried calling to her as she walked by the house. She didn’t look or respond. The next morning, he tried calling to her and again she didn’t look or respond, but this time she had a large stick with her. The following day, he was there at 6am in the morning sitting on the porch waiting for her to walk by the house. He just knew if she looked at him, she would recognize him.On this day, the neighbor had her large stick AND her husband with her and when my dad called out, the husband recognized “Checko-The Mailman!” They had a good laugh and talked about how funny it was they ended up from in the same neighborhood all these years later.

Dad continued to call out and waive to them in the mornings, this time, embarrassing Julia as he walked her to the bus stop and he would do it again as he waited with Olivia at her bus stop and called out and waived her to friends parents. One day I hope they will look back and remember those embarrassing moments and cherish them like family heirlooms. Olivia was so touched by the stories I told her about Papa and the books, she has decided to try to teacher herself Vietnamese. I told her I could help her get started…Một Hai Ba.