Grandma Abuelón

You taught us to ask for your blessing,

when saying hello and when saying goodbye.

‘Bendición, Abuelón.’

‘Dios te bendiga, mija.’

Large eyes, big belly, long dark leg hairs showing through your nylon stockings. 

Your scent, a mix of floral cologne, rubbing alcohol, and fried plantains.

Your voice, singing songs to teach us English, with an accent as thick as your soups: ‘Pollito-Chicken, Gallina-Hen, Lápiz-Pencil, y Pluma-Pen. Maestra-Teacher…’

Grandma Abuelón, you were a terrific teacher. You rode a horse (actually, a mare, as you found out when she gave birth on your way to school) through the Puerto Rican countryside, taking schooling to bright and beautiful barefoot children. You taught your students English, respect and dignity. You taught us good manners, and never to lie.

And you taught us to read! So many afternoons curled up in your bed, reading storybooks under a mosquito net... Reading opened our eyes, doors and windows to the whole wide world, and beyond.

Are you now teaching the angels our favorite song? ‘...Maestra-Teacher, Piso-Floor, Ventana-Window, y Puerta-Door.’

‘Bendición, Abuelón.’