Today, I didn’t choose to be too sentimental and reminisce my childhood. Nostalgia chose me.
As I have been following the investigation of the Fallen 44, memories of my grandfather come rushing back to me. His influence can be reflected all over me – I grew up to be a witty and diligent woman that I am today (the seven words before the last are actually according to my mom) hugely because of him. You must be wondering why the fallen heroes remind me of him. Well, he was in the U.S. Army during the WW2, and apart from that, he was also my own personal hero.
I feel the necessity to attach here our picture, but there’s no scanner available. Both my parents have jobs when I was little, and so my grampa (I call him Lolo Turing) became one of my babysitters. He taught me my 123s and ABCs, then he’d read a comic book to me from cover to cover. He would read it to me over and over until I memorized every word. Once my parents were home from work, I’d recite the words while flipping the pages of the comic book, giving them the impression that I could actually read. I was two.
Lolo Turing also taught me how to read the time in an analog clock. He used to tell me that digital clocks are only for the dumb because you never have to figure out where the minute hand and the seconds hand are pointing, something that I still believe until now. I remember he would make an improvised analog clock, made of paper plates and cardboards and numbers from an old calendar. Then I’d be able to tell it’s three forty-five by looking at the hands of the clock. Then he made me observe my shadows throughout the day. He said that when my shadow is long, that means it’s before noon. It’s the afternoon when my shadow is short, and if my umbrella’s shadow could shade me from the sunlight, that means it’s in the middle, then it’s midday. I was four.
He taught me how to read when I finally when to school, and also how to write my name. He had all the answers to all the questions that my young mind asked. Then he died of prostate cancer on my second grade. I was eight.
It’s been twenty years since he was called home, but his memories are still fresh in my head, like he was just here yesterday. And I miss him.