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My grandfather´s piñatas
My grandfather’s piñatas
I remember very little about my maternal grandfather, since I was about 2 years old when he passed away. I don’t think that many people can say that they have a memory from when they were that young, but there´s a very distinct one I have about my Sundays from back then. I would arrive at my grandparent’s house and there would be 2 piñatas hanging by a string from a tree that was on the right and the balcony from their room. My grandfather without saying a world would extend his index finger, which I would wrap, my hand around and he would lead the way to the piñata. Of course hitting the piñata was a task I couldn’t handle alone since I couldn’t hold a stick or actually reach the piñata, so he would carry me and hold the stick up so I could have the allusion of hitting the piñata myself. I don’t know what happened to the piñatas after I hit them because clearly, I couldn’t have damage them a whole lot. There is a possibility that it was the same piñata every Sunday for me, but I can’t be sure of that. My brother would hit his piñata also but I don’t remember anything other than he had one too. I would like to think that only my brother and I had the piñatas, but I don’t know if my cousins also had one. So, for the sake of our memories, we tell ourselves that there were always only 2 piñatas on Sunday afternoons. This is why I think memories are a tricky subject because sometimes we remember things in a different way than they actually happened. I am so happy that I don’t remember when he passed away but that I can actually relive the way I would hold his index finger as we walked towards the piñata. This makes my mom tear up every time she tells the story, because we all know parents love to tell the same childhood stories over and over again, and as for her, it makes me sad to know that that is the only actual memory I have from him. I guess that one memory is better than no memories at all. The amazing thing is that every time I am driving around and look to the little stores with piñatas hanging outside, I can smile and know that even I haven’t touched a one in years, they were once part of a ritual that my grandfather, my brother and I had together.
