So many stories, and yet only a few I can publish.
Yesterday evening I spent time at my grandma’s going over our family’s history, of which I know trop peu, and from this I gleaned two peculiar stories. One pleasant, the other tragic.
The first one I didn’t listen to very well (at least, I didn’t follow the details). All I know is that my grandma’s grandfather (or some male figure in her family) did not like to eat alone. So whenever he’d get home and his family had already eaten, he would take a little trip outside his house and look for the first person who’d walk by, proceeding to invite him or her for a free meal.
The second one I really thought strange and unfortunate. Apparently, my grandma’s mom had made a type of superstitious covenant with God by dressing little Geronimito in white every day for five years (and she showed me pictures as evidence). The day of his fifth birthday he was going to wear a cowboy outfit. That day never came. The day before his change of attire a tornado took the lives of both my grandma’s father and brother.
So there are the stories I can tell you. The rest will have to wait!