Sarcasm with a side of optimism.

The Day Without Immigrants

I just found out that today is "The Day Without Immigrants", and you know what? I didn't notice a single thing that was different.

But before you get all huffy and lash me with comments pointing out my insensitivity, I'd like to point out that immigrants who are not naturalized citizens will never find themselves in my workplace. So, there!

In case you didn't already know, my grandparents on my mother's side were immigrants. They've both passed on into Buddhist heaven, and have been living there for almost fifteen years, but the snippets of memories that I have with them represent my best childhood years. I think about how my children will not have this window into the past to see these very humble beginnings. It's funny how from there, everything moving away from that state resembles luxury. A washing machine inside your living quarters was a big deal, but a dryer too? I was twenty three before I ever had a sink with a disposal in it. I am still afraid to push anything through that black rubber mouth.

My grandparents never owned a car, but my grandfather smoked Lucky Stripes cigarettes like a chimney. It made him feel very American, I'm told.

When I was born, his condition of water-on-the-brain set in, and he usually remained seated. Some days he could walk, but you never knew when the fluid would shift. Imagine throwing a dart at a body map, and losing functionality of that part. That was my grandfather. For as long as I could remember, he was permanently seated in a wheelchair.

My grandmother was elegant, beautiful and stylish. I don't know if she loved my grandfather or not since it was an arranged marriage, but she doted on him and took care of him. I remember he was old, with whiskers and balding and she was so young, with skin so smooth with sharp intelligent eyes set in a perpetually calm face. She was best at pretending she didn't know what I was up to, so I thought I was sneaky. Who am I kidding? She knew everything.

I found out much later that they were twenty years apart. That's a big age gap, especially when age starts hitting you hard. I don't know anything about their lovestory, but I could tell from old 3.5" black and white photos that they seemed happy, especially when their first born was a boy. Most of the old photographs were of birthday parties, and they always had cake. Always.

If my grandmother were still alive today, she would be in her mid 70s. I wonder how things would have been different had she never gotten cancer, and outlived my grandfather. I would have learned Cantonese. Maybe I wouldn't have ever left New York. There are things that remind me of her- community gardens, vegetable gardens, the smell of ginger and garlic sizzling in hot oil (her place always smelled like that), square candies that look like Starburst...the more I think about it, the more places I see her. I don't roll up my tube of toothpaste like she did with a metal pin to get the last bit out. I can only see her apartment at eye level, which is three feet tall. All the memories seem much larger than that though.

posted by v @ 6:05 PM