Blanco

Sometimes I think about my grandfather's legacy, the Spanish that I speak and love. He was always in my mom's stories and I always had this intense urge to meet him. As time went by and I grew older, I realized how selfish he was. I don't know the details. There's no one to answer my questions about him anymore. The documents have failed me. I only know that his family was from Spain, he lived in Rocha, a county in Uruguay, had a lot of money before his family went bankrupt, had a farm, and was skinny as I am. He wasn't very tall. He was a serious person. The photos I have show that. They had seven kids.

The first time I thought about his legacy to me was in a conference in Buenos Aires. Isn't life ironic? I wasn't interested in dancing tango in 2004. I loved the music, but it wasn't something I had in mind, the dance was even remote to me.

Also, since I had started at UCLA I wanted to make everything in my life happen and I didn't have time to listen to music. That was killing me. Not having music around really makes me sad.

With a shrinking soul, I went to Buenos Aires to attend a librarianship conference. There I fell in love with the language - once again, the city, the food, the architecture, the streets, the rain and the people. There I realized I had the fortune of knowing Spanish as well as I did and that my grandfather somehow was responsible for that.

Gracias, abuelo.