R.I.P. Armando Escobio

I created this blog for no apparent reason. I just felt like it. It got its name simply because I love cuban sandwiches. Shortly after I created this blog the man who introduced me to the greatest food in the world ( cuban sandwiches ofcourse) passed away. Cause of death? I have no idea, and since he is now resting in Mt. Carmel Cemetary in NJ it will remain a mystery. I am talking about my beloved Grandfather ofcourse, Armando Escobio. I guess now seems as a good a time as any for my first post.

Armando Escobio was born on February 26, 1925 in La Lisa a municipality of Havana, Cuba. He was one of twelve children. He came to this country in the 40's where he worked for General Motors for thirty one years. He married my grandmother in 1948. He was the father of two sons. He worked hard so that his family would a place to live, food to eat and so that my father and uncle could attend catholic school in hopes of building a better future. He worked so that my father and my uncle would not be flooded with debt upon graduating from NYU. I don't wanna give him all the credit, my grandmother did work for many years as a seamstress helping to support the family, but for now I will focus on my grandfather.

I spent the better part of my first four years of life with my grandparents in Washington Heights. Just about everyday before work my father would drop me off at their house. My grandfather would take me every morning to the park on Fort Washington Avenue. We would walk to "El Ten Cent" on 181st Street, or otherwise known to the rest of the world as Woolworth's. I would go with him to get the paper and pick up lunch, usually from the Chinese place on 176th. Back at the apartment he would sit and read the paper while my grandmother did the crossword or the word jumble. I would drive around the house on this toy car harrassing Killer, the dog. In the afternoon my granfather and I would walk Killer, sometimes going back to the park on Fort Washington or sometimes to another park further away on Amerstdam Avenue.

My grandfather died quite suddenly and completly unexpectedly on September 10th, 2009. I had just seen him that Sunday. I remember one of the last things he ever said to me, he said it everytime I saw him, "No necesitas dinero?" He was one of the most generous men I have ever known. He was always making sure that there was nothing I was without, always offering me money-ofcourse I always turned him down. He always made me feel loved. Always he would tell me in his broken English, "You're my number one." All these things that he always used to tell me started to echoe in my mind after my mother broke the news to me. Regret after regret poured into my heart. Not enough photos, not enough phone calls, not enough anything. I feel as though I failed to show him how much I loved him and how much he meant to me. All I can do now is hope that there is an after life and that he is at peace now with all his loved ones that had passed before him. And I hope that he sees my pain and knows that he has been one of the most important people in my life. He made an impact on me. And that I will love and miss him forever. There was no eulogy said at his funeral so this will be my tribute to him.