This last Father’s Day was special in several ways. For hubby it was the first Father’s Day since becoming a grandfather! Adding to that, our grandson was with us, so I decided to have a very informal Open House. The purpose of such an event was to have other California family members meet him.
I improvised a menu with entries that were easy to prepare, but at the same time a bit festive. How else can we justify having deviled eggs and watermelon included on the bill of fare? Back when Dad had the fruit stand, I particularly thought of watermelons being special and festive.
I remember Dad going to the produce market in San Antonio once or twice a week. Back then the melons sold for one to three cents a pound. I recall Dad stating that the melons grown in Luling were the best. After the loaded truck arrived at the fruit stand, there was the task of unloading them. There is no way of doing that except one melon at a time. Picture the bucket brigade in some little towns of yore struggling to put out a fire. That was the way it was done from the truck to the cold storage (which melons sold for a half cent to one cent higher than the others). After that came the unloading to the outdoor display. That was a beautiful display, and Daddy always made the signs with the price. The outdoor display could be fenced in, but for some seasonal displays the fence came down during the day and went back up at night.
My young brother loved playing around the watermelons when he was a small boy. I liked watching people who came to buy the watermelon. Some would inspect the stem part of the melon; others would listen to the sound as they rapped on the melon like they were knocking at the door. Still others would ask Mom or Dad to see the inside of the melon to taste and view its color. This was done without opening the melon. A square roughly 2 inches by 2 inches was cut at such angles that when it was pulled out it had the shape of a pyramid. After inspection by the customer—and I don’t remember a watermelon ever being rejected—the pyramid which now lacked the top was plugged back into the melon.
During the watermelon season, which seemed to last the whole summer, Mom always found a way to get a watermelon to her mother, Mama Yaya. Usually she succeeded in sending her a melon three or four times during the season. Mama Yaya loved watermelons, and I am told that she could and would make a watermelon a complete meal. Mama Yaya had no teeth. I don’t know when she lost her teeth, but I don’t recall ever seeing her with any dentures or her own teeth. Watermelon may have been one of her favorite foods because it was easier for her to eat than other food. At any rate, in her view, watermelons were a treat and she considered them festive food, too.
Our family Sunday traditions, I recall, was for Mom, my sister and I to attend Mass at St Anthony’s Catholic Church. Dad stayed at the fruit stand working. After Mass, the three of us would walk to visit Mama Yaya. On the way from church to Mama Yaya’s we stopped at a neighborhood tiendita. There we purchased pan dulce, milk, or other things to take to my grandmother. When our visit was coming to an end, Mom would announce our departure. But Mama Yaya not wanting to have our visit come to an end would humorously announce, “Al rato vamos a partir una sandía.” To me it meant: don’t leave now. The festivities will start before long and in a while we are going to cut open a watermelon.
Mama Yaya, you were in my thoughts this Father’s Day. I wish my grandson and you could have met. Even though you were not physically at our Open House, I know your spirit was here enjoying our gathering and the sandía.
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