Cruz Grandpa

My mother is Mexican, but I am a white boy. My mother didn’t grow up in a barrio-type neighborhood. My mother’s dad worked his way out of that. There is probably a story there that will never be known. I never learned Spanish, other than the classes I took in high school. It was the language that my mother and her sisters could speak, without us children knowing what they were talking about. I think that during that part of American history, people were glad to be part of the melting pot that made them Americans, and the language of the land was English.


Cruz Grandpa was born in 1899. I think he and my grandma worked their way out of Mexico, up through Texas and the southern states picking crops. They made their way to Michigan and purchased two lots of land in Taylor, and his brother-in-law bought two lots next to him. They built their own houses, including garages, chicken coups and even outhouses. I vaguely remember there still being an outhouse at my grandma’s when I was very young. I do remember the sink in my grandma’s kitchen having an old-style hand pump to pump water from the ground. They also had a hand pump in the yard for watering the garden, and probably the animals. I think the animals were gone, or maybe a couple of chickens were left when I was little. Yes, they definitely had chickens because I do remember my grandma collecting some eggs in her apron to make breakfast. I was grossed out when some of the eggs were already starting to develop chicks. My mom also tells stories about the outhouse. Her baby sister, Fina, would catch stray cats and throw them in. Fina always did have a way with animals.

My grandfather built a large house, but even at three stories, the nine children had to share rooms and beds. Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom was on the first floor. The children slept on the second floor. I remember four rooms. You had to go through one room to get to the smallest bedroom. There were no doors. Curtains were hung in the doorways to divide the rooms. You could also walk out on the roof through the largest bedroom at the front of the upstairs. It wasn’t a balcony, just a flat roof over an enclosed area that was like a sun room. Grandma would have plants growing all over the house, but the sun room was packed with them. She definitely had a green thumb, and loved working out in the yard.

The third floor was never finished. It was used as attic space. When I would visit, I would love to explore the attic. It contained a history of their lives, with clothes and antique treasures that I loved to discover.

The house was heated by a potbelly stove in the living room. The smell of fire still reminds me of nights that I stayed at grandma and grandpa’s house. There was also a wood stove in the kitchen. It seemed that there was always an iron frying pan on the stove, and my grandpa would be cooking corn kernels, or peanuts. I used to love the peanuts hot off the stove. I think that they were fresh from his garden.

Grandpa Cruz was an educated man. He could read and write, and speak English and Spanish. I believe that he worked hard to pull his family out of poverty, and bring them to a place where they could experience the opportunities that America had to offer. He was a builder and a farmer (and with nine kids, I guess a lover too). He worked hard for survival. I don’t think that life was very easy in those days, even for the whites. I can only imagine the difficulties for Mexicans living on their own. My mother remembers Christmas as a child, when the Shiners’ would come and bring the children shoes and a toy. Eventually, Cruz Grandpa landed a job with the railroad.

Grandpa worked hard, and he also played hard. He was a musician, playing guitar, mandolin, and fiddle. His friends would come around on weekends to play music and drink beer. Beer drinking may definitely be a hereditary thing in our family. It has been one of my vices for many years. After a long night of music and drinking, my grandma would have to help grandpa into bed. His brother-in-law later died in a car accident from drinking and driving.

Somewhere, one of my aunts has an old tape recording of my Grandfather playing his guitar. He tried to teach me the mandolin, and I learned to play a song. I remember the tune, but I don’t know the name of it. Since I showed interest and talent, my parents started me in guitar lessons at the age of seven.

When I was still pretty young, my grandfather had a stroke. It was pretty bad, and he lost his ability to understand and speak English. He wasn’t the same anymore. Cruz Grandpa died in 1970.