To my grandfather...

It is still my favorite thing to have at dinner. I remember I used to look forward to it every Wednesday night and was extremely disappointed when it wasn’t served. To some, it may not be anything special but to me, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. My grandfather’s spaghetti sauce was not homemade; it was made from jars of Ragu sauce (or whatever was on sale at Pathmark that week), ground beef and garlic. But it was the best thing I ever ate. Why? Probably because I love ground beef and garlic. Probably because when you combined it everything else my grandfather cooked for our Wednesday night dinners, I ended up needing sweat pants. But I’m guessing the real reason I loved that meal was because it was always prepared by a man, who on his one day off during the week, would spend hours over a stove so that his family could meet up once a week, catch up, let the kids play, check the lotto numbers, maybe watch “Dynasty” and be around him and his wife.

My grandfather died last Thursday night at the age of 85. He would have been 86 this August. For the last couple of years, he battled leukemia and in recent months, went through dialysis treatments three days a week. However, none of this stopped him from taking care of his family. Last month, despite the dialysis and the need to take up to 15 types of medication, he still prepared Chinese New Year dinner for our family. He always found a way to read the entire paper every day, with his cup of coffee (milk, no sugar), and occasionally sneak is a sweet. Until recently, he took care of every household bill and did most of the cooking at home.

Jung Toy Low was a son, brother and a husband. He was the father to five children. He was the grandfather to 12 grandchildren and the great-grandfather to three great-grandchildren. He was a bus inspector in Hong Kong and a cook at Ruby Foo’s in New York for over 30 years. After retiring, he couldn’t stay retired, so he helped out a local deli. Despite being a member at a senior citizens center, where they were supposed to serve him, he ended cooking lunch for the members of the center.

My memories of my grandfather mainly involves the year my family lived with my grandparents in apartment 14F. My grandmother would pick us up from the babysitter’s and we would do our homework, eat and play before he arrived home. After taking the F train back from work, he would arrive home around 11pm. While we were supposed to be sleeping, I would sneak into the kitchen, where my grandfather read the paper, check the supermarket circulars and more likely than not, check out the daily racing form. After that, if he could, he would turn on the television, find HBO and check the TV guide and see if there was a boxing match scheduled.

During his downtime he also did his paperwork. My grandfather, like his father, kept very detailed notes about every aspect of his life. He knew about every gift he and my grandmother ever received and made sure he kept track of every gift he and my grandmother ever gave out. He would track the amount, the date and who gave the gift. As we discovered recently, he even tracked when and how much of the gift he spent and for what reason the money was spent for. Despite English not being his first language, he would find time to practice and learn new words when he could. He kept notes about new words and practice writing them and reading them. He would not only read the Chinese papers but also the New York tabloids. Whenever we couldn’t explain something in Chinese to our grandmother, we would always ask him to translate. I always had a sneaking suspicion that he was paying more attention than he cared to let on when my grandmother was watching “Wheel of Fortune”. He would take detailed notes about his medication – what it was for, how to say it in Chinese, how much of it he had to take and when he had to take them. Even up to his last trip to the hospital, he kept track of when he went in and when he was checked out.

In recent years, especially after he retired, I spent more time with my grandfather. With more time on his hand, and with my Cantonese getting better, it made it easier for me to talk to him. Our conversations were always short but I always learned a little more about him from each of them. I learned to love boxing by watching with him and always wanted to take him to a fight at Madison Square Garden. I learned that he really loved to cook. We would spend hours watching the Food Network, and he would always be able to tell you what the person on the show was doing and how he was doing it. I learned that he trusted others and expected that trust back. When he was told that he needed to quit smoking and that he had diabetes, he quit smoking and started drinking his coffee without sugar with no complaints. I also learned that my grandfather had a need to record every Chinese video he ever borrowed from the store. If I had to guess, he has probably bought at least 500 video cassettes just to copy a video he had already watched.

From my grandfather, I learned how to read a racing line, about pork belly before everyone else did and how to spot a good deal in a newspaper circular. From my grandfather, I wished I had learned how he made his fried eggs, his pan fried steak and how he cooked Chinese sausage. From my grandfather, I hope I have learn how to be a good man, how to be a hard worker, how to one day be a good husband and how to one day be a good father. Gong, I love you and I miss you already. I know that every time I go visit Paw, it won’t be the same without you there. I hope that I have made you proud and will continue to do so. I know you’re in a better place. I know you’re watching over us, like you always have.

Gong, I love you.