For my grandfather, Johnny
24 June 1920 – 14 March 2016
Cherish your grandparents.
Listen to them and take care of them as they took care of you when you were a child.
My grandfather’s name is Johnny. Well, in Romanian it’s Ion. But everyone called him Johnny. The more playful diminutive, one that fully reflected his personality.
Johnny was committed to making the lives of the ones around him better: through his unmatchable humor, positive philosophy with which he guided us all, and through an exceptional gift of giving. He was full of life. A life he lived to the fullest, up to almost 96 years old.
His face was beautiful, serene and not much wrinkled by age. The most prominent wrinkles were the ones around his mouth and eyes, signs of a permanent smile. At 95, his hair and moustache were darker than those of a 40-year-old.
He never took things too seriously and would turn the dullest situation into comedy. He would point out the bright side of things when all we could see was darkness. He would console us and tell us not to worry so much about things.
His clothes were always colorful and funky. He had the coolest style!
He was so funny. He was calm. He was wise. He was sharp. He loved to read (he read a lot and so fast!), do Sudoku and crosswords, and watch football. He practiced physical activity to keep his mind and body healthy – walking, yoga, swimming and cycling. He would always go to the “strand” (= public swimming pool) with my sister when she was a kid. And would teach us how to hold our breaths and do the “raft” move, laying still, face down in the water. He scared many people into thinking he had drowned. Yet another one of his tricks.
He hated bad weather and cold. He liked the sun and warmth and would sit outside every time he saw a ray of light. He was always tanned. He loved the sea. He would tell us the story of when he fell asleep on the beach and some passerby woke him up saying “Mister, should we cool you down or call the firefighters?”.
The sun and light are what guided his life – humor, joy, love, wisdom.
He was selfless. He taught us how to share everything - he never liked keeping clothes, books or possessions for too long. He wasn’t attached to material goods and was always free, lean and flexible. He loved seeing the joy on our faces when he gave us things he made for us or brought us from his travels. He would sometimes receive something one Christmas and then give it to one of us for Easter but in a different wrap – because, in his words, “a good wrap gets people more excited than the insides of the wrap”.
He was modern. But he also loved telling stories of his past. He’d talk about his time working at the university and all the things he learned from his students from around the world. He would tell jokes all the time and make fun that everyone would “bite”. He would laugh at his own jokes and at everyone else’s jokes. He was always smiling. It was infectious. The only gesture he’d make when he was upset would be a hand in the air implying “let’s leave that”. Let’s leave that and focus on humor and positivity.
The memories we have with Johnny are endless and bring us so much joy… He had lost some of his hearing in the past years so we bought him a hearing device. He never wore it, saying that he preferred hearing only what he wanted to hear. And then he’d laugh. And would also ask us to turn the music up all put something on with “more bass”.
When we used to tell him we had pressing work to do today, he would reply: “whatever you have to do today, leave for tomorrow and then for the day after tomorrow. And maybe then people will forget about it”. Whenever we were studying hard and late nights, Johnny would come to us and say: “let me teach you something: take the book, put it under your pillow and go to sleep. In the morning when you wake up, all the knowledge will be in your head”. I seriously considered his advice a few times.
His interaction with nature and the surrounding world was fascinating. He would feed the birds and sing to them. He would preserve certain types of seeds and plants and make his own tea. I think he believed in the magical equilibrium of nature.
He was active. Until around the age of 93, he would travel back and forth between Timisoara, his hometown (west of Romania and an 8h train ride) and Bucharest, where we lived. He always compared the two and would tell us all about his favorite places back home. He made friends everywhere he went and people loved and respected him. He would show up at the train station, looking out of a novel, with a bag full of fun stories. He would bring us gifts. And then my mom would trim his growing hair in an almost ritualistic ceremony. We could then find him in the garden, lying in the sun.
He taught us how to live better lives and rule ourselves: through controlled breathing and discipline. He gave us books and articles on yoga, illusionism, health, history and all topics he thought would interest us. He liked to learn new things and would ask us about foreign places and languages, especially English, which he was very interested in.
In the past two years he’d become a bit frail, since he had lost one of daughters, my aunt, and his wife, my grandmother. He kept quiet as always and I think he kept his suffering to himself but he went on, being the same good-spirited Johnny we’d always known. He would help my mother with house matters, tell her stories and watch TV together every evening. He would joke around with my cousin and watch football. My sister and him had energetic encounters and he would always try to trick her with one of his jokes and laugh when she’d take it seriously. He would look at my baby niece at in awe and observe her curious gestures.
Whenever I came home, he would greet me with a beautiful smile and a hug and always joke that I’m an “anatomy project” and poke my bones saying I’d lost weight. And then he’d say, “come, let me show you something” and would take me to his secret stash of things he had brought, received or handcrafted and would make me a gift (I always had multiple choices). A universe of cool jewelry, some of which I wear all the time. Vintage shirts, belts, pants, fur jackets that he’d turn into vests and then add some sleeves of his liking. And he’d always offer to patch my ripped jeans, joking that dogs must have chased me and ripped them and that he should give me some “normal person pants”.
Whenever I left, he would show me out to the gate or greet me from the balcony and tell me to “take care of myself”. I tried to always take photos of him when I was home or whenever we would speak on FaceTime. And he would make funny faces in most of them. I have a collection of beautiful images of him that offers a glimpse into what was a great man, a monument, my grandfather, our Johnny.
We will miss him, dearly. He touched so many lives. This world has lost a wonderful man but another world gained him. It’s funny, but I always thought he’s as close to immortal as one can get. His energy, joy for life and spirit will live forever and what he’s taught us we will teach our children and grandchildren.
Whenever he would go to bed every night, he’d greet us with a high pitch “Good night, children!” and we would respond in the same manner. Good night, our beloved Johnny.
So cherish your grandparents. Because they have so much to give and teach you.
Love.
14 March, 2016. New York.
