Nostalgia in aisle 3

Yesterday afternoon, I slowly trudged into my house, seeking relief from the brutal Arizona sun. My work uniform was stifling and I couldn't make it to my room fast enough to strip out of the hot polyester. I made it to my room and closed the door. I wandered over to the window to pull my blinds closed and I saw my grandpa sitting on the patio, smoking a cigarette and staring off into space.

Tata has been a part of my family for seventeen years. We moved in with him when I was five and my Nana passed away. I don't know why our family was the one who moved in, but I remember being in awe of our house in Nogales. It was big with wing-backed leather chairs and tile floors. Some of my favorite memories were coming into the living room, sitting with Tata and watching old episodes of "Looney Toons" while he laughed louder than I'd ever heard a grown-man laugh. Other times, I remember him putting on his military uniform, complete with badges, stars and a white helmet, and trudging off to the cemetery to participate in burials.

When I was nine-years-old, we moved to Tucson. I was still fairly young, but I don't remember there ever being a question of whether or not Tata would come with us. Along with my parents and brothers, he was a staple in our immediate family. We hadn't been a family of five in years; we were now a proud family of six.

Our first few years in Tucson, Tata was the same as he was in Nogales. He made the same jokes, laughed at the same things and even had a girlfriend. I rarely had a real conversation with him about my life or his, but it was just assumed that we cared for each other and there really was no need to discuss it.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I brought Tata into my U.S. History class so he could speak about his time overseas during World War II. At first, he sat in front of the class and didn't say much.

I tried to encourage him to talk about the discrimination he might have faced as a Mexican man. "Tell them about the time--" I started, but Tata held his hand up and cut me off before I could finish. He took a deep breath and launched into a story about how he and his buddies used to hang out in the Burmese jungles during their down time. He told stories of the cute girls he saw overseas, the jokes him and his friends shared, and how his experiences during WWII shaped him. It was the first time I had ever been impressed by my grandfather. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride that this was my Tata who was sitting in the front of the room, cracking up my classmates.

The Tata who sat in front of my sophomore U.S. History class was not the same Tata I saw yesterday. He sat in the same patio chair he always does, smoking a GPC cigarette and staring off into space, looking at something I can't see. He's quieter these days, a little slower too. The Tata who used to watch "Looney Toons" with me is long gone and sometimes, it makes me sad to think that one day he won't be here at all.

I quickly changed my clothes and made my way into the kitchen. Tata came in from outside.

"Hi, mijita," he said. He smiled at me and pat me on the shoulder, same as he does every day. I put my hand on top of his and smiled back.

"Hi, Tata," I said. He squeezed my shoulder and shuffled back to his room.

A lot has changed since that day seventeen years ago when we moved in with Tata. Much more has changed since that day thirteen years ago when Tata moved with us to Tucson. Our family of 6 has expanded and we are all getting older. I am coming to terms with the idea that one day I will wake up and there will be nobody to squeeze my shoulder and call me mijita.

But that day is not today.