I recently returned from celebrating my papa’s 100th birthday. It was great going home ;the  sun, sea, food and the parties!! My papa  is an early 1920’s ( we think) baby, raised in the countryside of the island.  His parents: farmers by trade would wait until their children were walking and talking before getting them registered in the capital. Now this trek was expense and time consuming so at times families would take two kids at a time , giving siblings three years a part the same birth year ( trippy right?).  This was bad , yet not as bad as registering the child’s name.

Family: Hello , we would like to register our son

Clerk: okay, child’s name

Family: Linden

Clerk:  okay , Lindell

Family:  No , we said Linden

Clerk: I think Lindell, sounds better

Family: But that is not what we want

Clerk: Trust me this is better

Family: We don’t want  to name our son named Lindell !!!

Clerk: It will grow on you

Family: What??!!!

Clerk: Trust me , NEXT!

Anyway , my papa has endured 100  years of life , still walking & talking,  I like when he tells this story. He is one of the few people in my country that have  their real name as a pet name  which makes him extra unique. I  enjoy when he ruffles through his memory  bank and produces an interesting story that may make senses to locals and pearl clutching to others.  I think about the change in his skin  protrusion of views, the delicateness of his skin and how he feels cold more often. He is worried about his stories . He is concerned about his family. He is daily living in his memories. The way he wrinkles his forehead  while pulling  out a file, review the content inside  whether about him as a boy , a ladies’ man or his change of life  with religion. He  loves his stories , shares his stories . I wonder who will share mine?