VALENTINE'S DAY

My paternal grandmother was born on February 14th, 1930. This makes her an Aquarius. My paternal grandfather will celebrate his 80th birthday on April 2nd. He is an Aries, and I've heard that the mix of the two signs is positively chemical.

The story goes like this: Way back in Chihuahua, Mexico, where my grandparents hail from, Guadalupe L______ lived with his family. Lupe, as everyone knew him, liked to drink, liked to dance, and worked very hard. He had dreams of going to California, to make more money than he was making in his hometown. His intent-- the intent of many Mexican immigrants --was to send the cash he made back to the family.

Of course, they didn't want him to leave. They wanted him to stay on the farm and help out with the chores. But Lupe knew his fortunes were waiting for him in Los Angeles.

He didn't want to go alone. No one else was willing to take the venture.

Then, one day, he saw a beautiful senorita standing in her front yard, hanging clothes out to dry, in a house not too far from his own. It was Bertha, his future wife. Lupe was so enthralled by her that he would walk by that house every day, as soon as he discovered Bertha's existence. He couldn't take his eyes off of her-- every day, he passed by and looked at her, smiling, hoping to skewer up the courage to ask her out on a date.

After a while, she began to notice that she had a suitor. And when Lupe realized he had caught her eye, he became a little bolder. Never a good-looking man, Lupe had confidence in spades, and asked her out. He courted the family. He paid his respects to her father and mother. He was a perfect gentleman.

They went out dancing, and they fell in love.

They've been together all of this time, through thick and thin. My grandparents are not rich people, but they own their house in Pacoima and Lupe has never had to work for anyone other than himself. When he married Bertha and traveled to California with his wife and first-born son (my father), he learned how to work on automobiles and quickly went into business for himself as an auto body specialist. Half a century later, he still does body work on cars to earn his keep.

My grandfather smokes three packs of Marlboros and goes through a 12-pack of Budweiser in the course of one day. He is as healthy as he ever was. He still works on the cars, not because he has to, but because he would die of boredom if he ever settled down and let his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren do the rest of the work... not to mention the fact that, no matter how much he teaches them, they can never do the work as well as he can!

My grandmother has been experiencing touches of old age dementia, but other than that she is still the same. She cooks heaping amounts of rice and beans every day, still uses a clothesline even though her eight children all pitched in to get her an eletric dryer years ago. Maybe the hanging of the clothes is a daily reminder of how she met the man she ended up marrying and having ten kids with, the man who took her to America and gave her a comfortable life.

My grandmother has seen tragedy as well. One of her sons has been locked up in prison for the past two decades. Another was murdered around the same time. One of my cousins, Rosa, the eldest daughter of my late uncle David, gave my grandmother a special gift for her 75th birthday-- a framed picture of my uncle David, holding Rosa when she was one year old.

My grandmother showed me the picture and asked me if I knew who the man was. I replied that I did, in the best Spanish I could muster. My grandmother began to weep. Time does not bury the pain that goes with the death of one's child. Even in a family as large as mine, the passing of one of us does not go unnoticed.

What I love the most about my grandmother is her quiet strength. Like a typical Aquarius, she watches everything go down, never uttering a single word. She is content to watch the men talk as they smoke cigarettes and drink beer in front of the garage, my grandfather's domain. She sits silently by his side, never needing to make even the slightest comment. She takes it all in, she watches all of it. Dementia or not, she is still acutely aware of her surroundings.

She comes from a generation where the women deferred to their men, but my grandmother has never been passive or submissive. Simply, she has faith in her husband, who has never strayed and never had a reason to leave her for someone else. He gave all of this to her, and by snobby American standards it isn't a lot... but then again, they don't owe any money to anyone, and they have never lived beyond their means.

I think they're in great shape. And I also think I know what being in love is all about, when I watch them together.

Valentine's Day has never mattered to me, as far as dating goes. It's just another phony holiday, really. It means nothing in the long run. While others fret about their love situations, I take the time of that day to celebrate my grandmother's existence. I have always done this, and if you ask me it is time better spent.

Because, although I might never know true and real love in my own life, I know that I've basked in its glow many times before. When my grandfather stands to his feet, enthralled by the banda music blaring from his shop radio, and extends his hand to my grandmother, inviting her to dance one more time before they are parted by the inevitable kiss of death and old age, there is no place I'd rather be.

If I could be half as fortunate as they are, then I wouldn't need anything else in my life. I'd be complete.