There is only one man that I have ever called ‘Papa’. And he died Thursday, peacefully apparently, leaving the world behind. Papa Leo, was technically speaking my Father’s maternal uncle but by the time my father hit double digits and had lost both his parents, he took my Father in. So Papa Leo and his wife Cecilia (called Nana-of course) raised my Father along-with their four children and were parents to him. Nana & Papa’s kids were my Father’s brothers and sisters for all practical purposes and we treated them and they treated us as such. My Father was their big brother. My Father referred to Nana & Papa as his parents and one of my favourite memories I have of my Father is him telling me why he wanted to stay with them when he lost both his parents: Because they gave him scones and cupcakes for tea.
When I was younger, I got to know Papa Leo and Nana well. I remember spending the summers at their house alongside the boulevard of huge oak tress and eating the half-formed blackberries still on the vine behind the house. One of my favourite places in Houston is where South Main meets Montrose at a round-about by the Warwick Hotel and the Museum of Fine Arts and right next to Rice. If you’ve ever been there you would have noticed that stretch of Main was arched with 100year old oak trees shading the street below. That’s what it was like by Papa’s house. Actually one of the neatest things about my day job is that the place where I work has this huge blackberry tree that’s fruiting right about now and everyday when I walk past it I’ll pluck a few and think of Papa.
Papa I’m sure lead an interesting life, I remember spending hours looking at pictures of him when he was serving in the Navy during World War II as part Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Knowing someone who was part of something that I only read about in books fascinated me. He didn’t talk much about it but I don’t remember asking really.
Thinking about how Papa outlived his wife, two oldest sons, my father and most of the people he probably grew up with says a bunch. I won’t say it’s because of good clean living but I think more of a stubborn spirit that wouldn’t relent. He was a funny guy who liked his drink and loved his family and my Father very much. To me that’s plenty. To me that’s Papa.
He was 87.
