Post by Radrook Admin on Nov 12, 2022 8:05:08 GMT -5
The photo above is the actual church located in Coamo Puerto Rico, where my grandmother was employed as a cook and where all the events mentioned below took place.
My grandmother, Kiteria Diaz, as she was known by her maiden name, a very short and extremely pale woman, was left with four kids to raise alone after her husband, my grandfather, died. One way that she made ends meet, apart from her short stint at bootlegging, and work at the school cafeteria, was serving as a cook for the town’s Spaniard Catholic priest.
As it turned out, this job at church allowed her to become very familiar with the priest’s personality, and this led to her disappointment when she noticed certain of his very avoidable unchristian tendencies. One of these was his stinginess when handing out help to the poor by giving them food. You see, a long line of people would be waiting for him, under the heat of the Puerto Rican sun, to finally appear at the church's back entrance with the free food. But by the time that he finally decided it was time to be charitable, they were exhausted. My grandmother, of course, noticed his lack of empathy, and it infuriated her.
“Hypocrite!” she would say to my mother with whom she shared everything that she observed there.
“He takes his good long time while those poor people are waiting under the hot sun when he could easily do it much sooner. It’s as if he enjoys the sense of feeling more fortunate than they are.”
To add even more wood to her fire, he had chosen my grandmother to hand out the charity, which turned out to be a potato for each person, or a plantain, or perhaps a mango, and maybe a little piece of a chicken. She, of course, wondered how the hell they were going to ease their hunger with that meager help. She tried might and main to do as he said, but finally, she could take it no longer. So the next time a long line of people appeared at the church’s back entrance for charity, she hurriedly dumped everything he had given her in one bag, gave it to a kid who was at the front of the line, and told him in a hushed voice:
“Here, tell your mom to make a good dinner for all of you. Run, before someone tries to take it away from you!”
The kid, took off with all the grub, and the rest of the people were left with nothing. Soon, the priest noticed that the line was not getting any shorter, and that the people were still there waiting hours after they were supposed to have left, and he asked my grandmother why.
“Hija! Que significa esto?” literally “Daughter, what does this signify?” he asked her as he surveyed the line of miserable people gazing at him with glimmers of hope in their tired eyes.
“Sorry Father, but it breaks my heart to give each one of these persons just one potato, or one plantain or mango, or tiny piece of meat. That is not going to get rid of their hunger. So I just gave the first one in line everything, and they will have a good dinner tonight. That’s for sure.”
“But what about all these other people still in line, my daughter? What are they supposed to do?” he asked.
“Well father, I don’t know, but I do know that one potato was not going to help them. So if you want to continue giving each one a potato, then you will have to get someone else to do it, because I can’t.”
Since my grandmother was an excellent cook, and he wanted to keep her contented, the town priest increased the amount of food he gave each person to her satisfaction. But from her standpoint, the Father should have done that spontaneously, with no need for her to tell him. So her opinion of him wasn’t exactly a positive one.
Then there was the incident when my grandmother sent my mother, who was a child at the time, to borrow a few dollars from the priest. It was during a strong downpour, and when my mother reached the church, she was drenched. She, of course, assumed that she would be mercifully allowed a few moments to get out from under the pelting rain. But when she arrived at the back entrance, as she had been told to do, the priest, instead of inviting her in from the downpour, just asked her what she wanted. She told him what her mother was asking for, and he told her to wait, shut the door in her face, and left her outside under the downpour waiting for about five minutes. Then he appeared with the money, and unceremoniously sent her on her way. When my grandmother was told, she was furious.
“So the SOB didn’t invite you in, but just let you wait under the rain?” she said to my mother as she tenderly wiped her dry with a towel and fetched her some dry clothing.
“Didn’t I tell you that he is a hypocrite? Don’t worry mija, people like that pay for what they do, if not now, then after death, when they have to give accounts to God” she said in an effort to console my mother who had felt that she had been a victim of cruelty.
Well, unfortunately for the priest, the moment to soak up the Karma that my grandmother had mentioned, arrived before his death, and, ironically, at the hands of none other than my grandmother herself. You see, it just so happened, that two priests from Spain had visited the town priest, and were staying overnight. As usual, my grandmother was assigned to cook them dinner. Now, I wasn’t told exactly what ingredients my grandmother very enthusiastically added to the food that she served them that evening, but it was intended to have a strong laxative effect.
That evening, the three priests were seated awaiting to taste the fine cooking that my grandmother was famous for. She, after very tenderly and politely serving the food, left and positioned herself nearby listening as they expressed their admiration for her cooking skills, and waited patiently for the laxative effects to kick in. For a long while, nothing. But then, finally, BINGO! one of them hurriedly excused himself and headed straight for the latrine. While he was still easing nature in the Latrine, another Father bolted from the dinner table and began banging frantically on the Latrine door yelling for the first Father to hurry because he had a serious gastro-intestinal emergency. Finally, but not least, the hometown priest, her employer, who was the host, suddenly also bolted from the dinner table towards the Latrine with the same urgency and passed her as she hid in the shadows watching the spectacle.
She did ask him as he passed her:
“Adios! Que le pasa padre?” loosely translated as: “Yikes! What’s the matter, Father?”
“Nada hija, nada!” “Nothing, my daughter, nothing!” he yelled back as he sped straight for the outhouse where the second father was still frantically banging on the door.
"So there is some justice sometimes after all," she must have thought.
My Grandmother and the Town Priest
by
Radrook
by
Radrook
My grandmother, Kiteria Diaz, as she was known by her maiden name, a very short and extremely pale woman, was left with four kids to raise alone after her husband, my grandfather, died. One way that she made ends meet, apart from her short stint at bootlegging, and work at the school cafeteria, was serving as a cook for the town’s Spaniard Catholic priest.
As it turned out, this job at church allowed her to become very familiar with the priest’s personality, and this led to her disappointment when she noticed certain of his very avoidable unchristian tendencies. One of these was his stinginess when handing out help to the poor by giving them food. You see, a long line of people would be waiting for him, under the heat of the Puerto Rican sun, to finally appear at the church's back entrance with the free food. But by the time that he finally decided it was time to be charitable, they were exhausted. My grandmother, of course, noticed his lack of empathy, and it infuriated her.
“Hypocrite!” she would say to my mother with whom she shared everything that she observed there.
“He takes his good long time while those poor people are waiting under the hot sun when he could easily do it much sooner. It’s as if he enjoys the sense of feeling more fortunate than they are.”
To add even more wood to her fire, he had chosen my grandmother to hand out the charity, which turned out to be a potato for each person, or a plantain, or perhaps a mango, and maybe a little piece of a chicken. She, of course, wondered how the hell they were going to ease their hunger with that meager help. She tried might and main to do as he said, but finally, she could take it no longer. So the next time a long line of people appeared at the church’s back entrance for charity, she hurriedly dumped everything he had given her in one bag, gave it to a kid who was at the front of the line, and told him in a hushed voice:
“Here, tell your mom to make a good dinner for all of you. Run, before someone tries to take it away from you!”
The kid, took off with all the grub, and the rest of the people were left with nothing. Soon, the priest noticed that the line was not getting any shorter, and that the people were still there waiting hours after they were supposed to have left, and he asked my grandmother why.
“Hija! Que significa esto?” literally “Daughter, what does this signify?” he asked her as he surveyed the line of miserable people gazing at him with glimmers of hope in their tired eyes.
“Sorry Father, but it breaks my heart to give each one of these persons just one potato, or one plantain or mango, or tiny piece of meat. That is not going to get rid of their hunger. So I just gave the first one in line everything, and they will have a good dinner tonight. That’s for sure.”
“But what about all these other people still in line, my daughter? What are they supposed to do?” he asked.
“Well father, I don’t know, but I do know that one potato was not going to help them. So if you want to continue giving each one a potato, then you will have to get someone else to do it, because I can’t.”
Since my grandmother was an excellent cook, and he wanted to keep her contented, the town priest increased the amount of food he gave each person to her satisfaction. But from her standpoint, the Father should have done that spontaneously, with no need for her to tell him. So her opinion of him wasn’t exactly a positive one.
Then there was the incident when my grandmother sent my mother, who was a child at the time, to borrow a few dollars from the priest. It was during a strong downpour, and when my mother reached the church, she was drenched. She, of course, assumed that she would be mercifully allowed a few moments to get out from under the pelting rain. But when she arrived at the back entrance, as she had been told to do, the priest, instead of inviting her in from the downpour, just asked her what she wanted. She told him what her mother was asking for, and he told her to wait, shut the door in her face, and left her outside under the downpour waiting for about five minutes. Then he appeared with the money, and unceremoniously sent her on her way. When my grandmother was told, she was furious.
“So the SOB didn’t invite you in, but just let you wait under the rain?” she said to my mother as she tenderly wiped her dry with a towel and fetched her some dry clothing.
“Didn’t I tell you that he is a hypocrite? Don’t worry mija, people like that pay for what they do, if not now, then after death, when they have to give accounts to God” she said in an effort to console my mother who had felt that she had been a victim of cruelty.
Well, unfortunately for the priest, the moment to soak up the Karma that my grandmother had mentioned, arrived before his death, and, ironically, at the hands of none other than my grandmother herself. You see, it just so happened, that two priests from Spain had visited the town priest, and were staying overnight. As usual, my grandmother was assigned to cook them dinner. Now, I wasn’t told exactly what ingredients my grandmother very enthusiastically added to the food that she served them that evening, but it was intended to have a strong laxative effect.
That evening, the three priests were seated awaiting to taste the fine cooking that my grandmother was famous for. She, after very tenderly and politely serving the food, left and positioned herself nearby listening as they expressed their admiration for her cooking skills, and waited patiently for the laxative effects to kick in. For a long while, nothing. But then, finally, BINGO! one of them hurriedly excused himself and headed straight for the latrine. While he was still easing nature in the Latrine, another Father bolted from the dinner table and began banging frantically on the Latrine door yelling for the first Father to hurry because he had a serious gastro-intestinal emergency. Finally, but not least, the hometown priest, her employer, who was the host, suddenly also bolted from the dinner table towards the Latrine with the same urgency and passed her as she hid in the shadows watching the spectacle.
She did ask him as he passed her:
“Adios! Que le pasa padre?” loosely translated as: “Yikes! What’s the matter, Father?”
“Nada hija, nada!” “Nothing, my daughter, nothing!” he yelled back as he sped straight for the outhouse where the second father was still frantically banging on the door.
"So there is some justice sometimes after all," she must have thought.