December 20, 2020
This Sunday, and just a few days before celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior, we give thanks and welcome peace in our lives. Thankful for the many blessings in our lives throughout the past year. Yes they were there and always will be! Peace, the peace that Jesus brings each of us by being with us throughout each of our days and bringing that peace to our family, community and world. Jesus said, “Peace I leave you, my peace I give to you.”
Today, I would like to share part of my story, a writing I wrote twelve years ago about my Grandpa Andrew Moreno.
Armando D. Moreno
February 7, 2008
Grandpa Andy
My personal loving recollection of my Grandpa, Andrew R. Moreno.
Stockton, CA., 1968, I grew up on the Westside of town in the suburbs. At the early age of 8, I knew the difference between my neighborhood and the one which my Grandpa Andy resided in. My area of town allowed children to ride bicycles within established boundaries that protected us and at the same time, set fear of what exists outside of those boundaries.
Brushed teeth, hair combed and a perfectly pressed shirt from Mom and I was ready to go. Dad (Big Mando), Cindy and I would load in the car and set out on our journey. As we drove through my neighborhood, I vividly recall a different feeling come over me. The streets of my upbringing were my comfort zone, had now become a very surreal atmosphere which gave me a feeling of untouchable completeness, just by having Dad by my side. We were off to visit Grandpa Andy in downtown Stockton.
I wasn’t certain how Grandpa Andy got to where he was in life however, I knew he was my Grandpa and I loved him, and he me. The car we were riding in came to a stop alongside a concrete curb in skid row. A place where the buildings were tall and dark. A place we traveled through but seldom stopped. A part of town Mom protected us from but also a place where we were safe because Dad was with us. As we exited the car and the soles of our shoes touched the cold concrete sidewalk, I could feel that I had now arrived in an environment that was strange to my senses. A place where only “grown-ups” existed. My sister and I were little people in a big place. There was a physical difference with this place that I couldn’t pin point and yet my senses worked to their capacities trying to comprehend this new landscape in my mind. Across the sidewalk stood a large store front with posters plastered to the windows promoting local boxing events. Men with laced boxing gloves, stone cold expressions and their eyes following our every move as if they were looking right through us. Between store fronts stood a seven or eight-foot-wide staircase with steps made of wood that led up to darkness. Dad would reach out and grab our hands as we started to ascend the steps, each with its own unique sound; cracking, popping and creaking. Just before we were completely taken by the darkness at the top of the stairs, light would appear from down a hallway as the door would open. The hallway led to more hallways with matching wooden walls and floors. Light would come and go as we travelled the long corridors, making an occasional turn only to find another long corridor that was related to the previous. With each second in time, I could feel another sense give way to another, smell, sight, sound, all working together in an attempt to take in the whole experience. The hallways were empty, no pictures, furniture or people, only darkness and the music of six shoes against the wooden floors, bringing new life to an old building and comfort to us. No words were spoken during our journey however, I could feel that we were getting closer to my Grandpa Andy. Before I could gather my thoughts, we would reach our destination. Now stopped at his door, Dad would knock and call out to Grandpa through the door. This would repeat until we could hear a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The doorknob would start a rotation then the door would crack open slightly, as my eyes opened wide as ever to see my Grandpa peek out the opening of the door. Then the door would close momentarily, allowing Grandpa to ready himself for our visit. What was only a minute, seemed like forever as we waited for the door to reopen. There he was, my Grandpa, standing with a huge smile that would instantly warm my heart. As my sister and I would enter his tiny studio, Grandpa would share embraces with each of us, speaking in words of Spanish that I didn’t understand but knew by the tone of his voice and the expressions that came from within him, his message was one of love. A hug and kiss from my Grandpa was a gift that could easily replace one hundred birthday presents. Fair complexion with little hair on his head and a moustache neatly trimmed on a face that showed the hard work he performed in his younger years. In the room stood a bed, dresser, small table with two chairs and a television with rabbit ears. Lighting was dim and walls were paneled with aging wood. Dad and Grandpa would talk however, my sister and I were the center of Grandpa’s attention. Three generations together in a moment of time disregarding the surroundings. Our visit would last forty-five minutes or so, and we would journey back through the long corridors only this time, Grandpa was with us. A big hug and kiss before stepping back into our car then Grandpa’s hand would reach through the window opening and brush our hair with one last expression of Love, then we would drive away. Me looking back at my Grandpa and he at me…………. a loving, tender moment frozen forever.
Merry Christmas too all,
Deacon Armando
Deacon Armando 