"Abuelo"

My Grandma used to have this little statue of a man playing a flute with a cool little headdress on. She used to say "That's your Papa, he's the chief". Everytime my mom would bring us from Pennsylvania, all the way down to Corsicana Texas I'd see it. And id see my Papa. He was a huge black man. He grew up in Pennsylvania. When i was little i didn't see much of him, but when i did, he was really quiet, and only really spoke to get on to my sister and i.
When i got older and id visit them when they moved to Pennsylvania, and WE lived in Texas, i always felt like he was picking on me. He used intimidation as a tactic, which i dont think ever truly works. Up until recently i always thought it was because he didn't like me, but, him being a black man going through what he went through, his trials and tribulations, to see me acting the way i did being who i was as a white male, was probably a bit of culture shock.
Even though it may or may not have been the best way to handle me, i can atleast understand his intentions. I mean, we're all human. And its not like he beat me, or anything.

I'm mostly writing this because i dont necessarily understand how to handle the emotions caused by my most recent interactions with him.

Right before november my sister called me and told me he was in the hospital and that an infection he got from a rusty railroad spike he had gotten 30+ years prior had been acting up to the point that he couldnt get off his bed.
So, the family gets together and we get everyone tickets to go see them.

Everything was awesome. Even though the thought that i was gonna have to leave was looming and mulling in my mind, it was easy enough to push it back and enjoy the moments i had.

Then, the day after thanksgiving, my great uncle died. My Papa's last living sibling gone, and we were leaving that day.
There was a very solemn vibe in the house that day, it still kind of follows me around. So, when we were leaving my papa was on the phone, and people were calling and giving their condolences and we had to interupt to say goodbye, and leave him there. This man worked his whole entire life to provide for his family, and i feel so ungrateful sometimes. After i said goodbye i went downstairs and put up my suitcase in the car, and ran upstairs to go to the bathroom, and i saw my Papa with his head in his hands.

I feel that because of our evolution as society, that a lot of our issues would be solved if we rethink how we raise our boys. I'm not a father, but i know what its like to be told not to be a baby, and not to cry, or express yourself, because thats what girls do, and it seems to me that we all inadvertently perpetuate this issue probably because of ignorance.

Who would my Papa had been if his feelings and emotions hadnt been surpressed, and denied?

I probably wouldnt be here.