So there I was, accompanying my little grandchild to his first day at the kindergarten, and he was not afraid one bit! Instead, he squeezed my hand so tight, marched boldly forward to the classroom while screaming at the top of his lung, This is my Bobo! This is my Bobo!She would chuckle and shake her head, looking as happy and proud as she could be and deep down, I always wished that the grandchild in her story had been me instead.
When I think about my Bobo, I remember fondly about the candy jar in her car and the cellophane filled candy in her purse, consistently maintained at a certain quantity and variety. Parking assistants and beggars on the street always sincerely thanked her for the extra something she gave. And everyone knew my Bobo was the to go to person when you want your candy fix!
When I think about my Bobo, I remember her big wood drawer with that weird pattern brass knobs and the amazingly fresh fragrant that attacked me every time I opened it. The secret ... she had never thrown off her soap wraps and would put them in between her folded clothes instead. My mom still does that even now.
As much as I love these little memories, I wish I could have known her better. I'm in the middle of scanning old pictures from the 60s and 70s and it made me miss her terribly and worse, it made me feel as if I don't know her at all. But then, I found, at the back of mini mom and mini aunt's picture, a song lyrics hand written by her, .
A quick Google trip and a stop at Sukolaras, I am now listening to the song, chuckling and shaking my head. If I could only have one wish now, it would be to go back in time and see my 30-something emo Bobo singing along to the song passionately, wholeheartedly.
:)
0 comments:
Post a Comment