A Padrino Carrying A Box of Lettuce
We moved into our first house. Tarrytown, NY, 1985.
Tarrytown, New York, 1985.
I’m twenty-four years old. A newlywed. Evelyn’s twenty-seven. She had just become a member of the Exchange. And we move into our first house on this perfect little cul-de-sac called Heritage Hill.
But it was our first Saturday on the block, and my in-laws—Evelyn’s mother and step-father—come over to help us unpack.
Tuti and Artie. Arturo. Now let me tell you about Arturo. Because this man made an entrance that day that I will never forget.
Artie shows up to help us unpack in his double-breasted suit and tie. With the high-waisted pants pulled up to his chest the way they used to wear them in that generation. Arturo was a lawyer, and at this point, a judge, from Miraflores.
Our first house in Tarrytown was a gray and white Colonial. The front door was in the middle of the house in the front yard. That was the main entrance. But the door we used to go in and out of everyday was on the side of the house, off the kitchen. There was a breezeway between the kitchen and the garage, and that’s the door we used to use.
I’ll never forget it, that day.
The car pulls into the driveway and Artie gets out first, swings around the front of the hood to get the door for his wife, Tuti. Extends a hand to help her out, lookin like a Peruvian Cary Grant. And then Tuti steps aside while Artie opens the door to the back seat and retrieves a big cardboard box.
Evelyn and I come into the breezeway to kiss them hello, but Tuti and Artie barely stop to say hi yet. Instead, Artie nudges the door open with his elbow, sets the box down on the kitchen table, and Tuti starts opening cabinets. Random cabinets. Top ones, bottom ones -- it didn’t matter.
Artie starts unpacking his box, and it became clear that a performance had begun.
He reaches into his box and starts pulling out the staples: Goya beans. White rice. Sofrito. Adobo. And Tuti starts stuffing them into the cabinets, one after the other. And as they put on this little show, Arturo starts to speak. He says:
“With these gifts, we bless this home. May this house never go hungry. Con estos dones, bendecimos este hogar. Que jamás pase hambre esta casa.”
He pulls out fresh vegetables, a pork roast, oatmeal, cornmeal, and Tuti tucks them into the refrigerator.
A Padrino carrying a box of lettuce!
The whole blessing took maybe sixty seconds. The two of them closed the last cabinet, turned around with big smiles, and came over to hug and kiss us hello. “Hola nena!” he said to Evelyn.
“With these gifts, we bless this home. May this house never go hungry. Con estos dones, bendecimos este hogar. Que jamás pase hambre esta casa.”
Love it…
My Dad grew up in Boston in a less than wealthy family, but surrounded by relatives who always looked out for each other. His golden rule was to always help those in need, and always ring the doorbell with your elbow. Simple, but solid advice.