Life's Goldest medal
Late 80s, thirty plus years ago back in Lima, Perú, my grandparents would borrow a van and take all my cousins and I to the town of Ica for the weekend, a four-hour drive south of the capital.
My grandfather grew up in Ica and still had plenty of relatives down there, always looking forward to visiting back. This quaint little town had often celebrations on the main square branching out through the city streets and into the neighborhoods, pretty much a full city party… what people would do before Netflix right? Live music, freshly cooked food and sweets, all sort of games... Children running all over the place, adults dancing, teenagers holding back, like I said, straight up 80s.
In that van though, we were about 10 bubbly kids under the sole supervision of our grandparents, who were already in their mid-60s. In retrospective, those trips were a true feat. Back then there was no Waze, Google maps, cellphones or ipads to watch movies. Only a beaten, dusty road eating through the desert along the Pacific shoreline.
Us, the kids, we truly dreaded those long rides. Four hours for any child is a lifetime, let alone all of us all cramped together inside an old noisy van with no a/c, Grandma talking about Jesus, the fights between us and the taunting of the youngest ones... Jesus Christ indeed.
You know, we've all been children and with their beautiful sense of wonder often comes a lack of perspective. I could say that in a way, enjoying the moment is intertwined with taking it for granted?
Maybe, but still today, evidently, I would give pretty much anything to be in that van one more time. Specially to witness one particular moment. You see, in every single trip we made the same pit stop, a mandatory one for Grandpa.
It was the crappiest shack, bordering the road, no parking, we’d had to stop on the shoulder. My grandma would never let us go down, too dangerous, too many cars, it'll take just a minute. So we'd wait for Grandpa as he arranged on his hat, stepped down and walked to the shack.
He would talk for what appeared hours to us, meanwhile we boiled inside with frustration and heat. And every single time, after a lengthy negotiation with the shack man, our Grandpa would walk back to the van with the largest smile.
What a fucking smile, I could write pages and pages about it. Rarely seen anything like that ever since.
And now as an adult, lacking wonder but with a bit of perspective, I can attest that whoever manages to pull out a smile like that has definitely won the Olympics of Life.
And the Goldest medal?
Well… A bunch of humble but golden bananas, which he held up in the air like Rocky Balboa, with the pride of an eagle, as he slowly walked back to the van.
And his smile would blind the sun
and it stopped the course of time.
We'd stare back at him in utter disbelief, furious… nobody asked for a freaking banana and he just couldn’t care less.
Talk about foresight. Crazy old man.
The Hero Light Sculpture
Mahogany & Light
Montreal, September 2021.