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While this blog is an extension of myself, I do feel that “ME” as I am, would not be, with out The Man. This man is not only deserving of his own post, but I would not be able to do it alone. So to ensure proper due is given to this man I have asked some who are near and dear to me to write about him. This man is none other than Papito, my dad. Members of my family have taken time to write a little something about, this man and why he was so special. Mind you, he passed away when I was only nine, and even at such a young age, he has impacted me in ways I couldn’t begin to describe.
Maria V The eldest.
Dad was Pablo Ciscart. Actually it was Ciscard but Mom being the creative person that she was, changed it to Ciscart and so it stayed. Dad was handsome, always very funny, always loving ,dependable to the end, and stylish in his younger days, wearing hats and coats as he pulled my sled in the snows of Central Park. I am Maria de los Angeles or Lila as my siblings refer to me in spanish. It’s curious that when they talk about me in English I am Maria and when they talk about me in spanish I am Lila, but again that is how it is in our family. I am the oldest of 8. I can reach back into the recesses of my mind and remember my visabuela. She took care of me back in Cuba where I was born but the clearest memories are of 142-45 130th Avenue in South Ozone Park. For a moment I must go back to the 30s, where back in Cuba a fortune teller told Dad that he would have lots of children. Maybe you believe or not but the story goes that Dad ended up having 8 children. Me, Eric, Irene, Dawn, Rafael, Rufino, Matthew and Nathaniel and in my book that is a lot of children. It is an understatement to say that our Dad was special. While other families have bad memories of fathers who abused and misused, we only have memories of a father who was loving and kind. Dad loved to travel. He had the balls to come to America to start out a new life for Mom and me and then, he created a life that gave all of us education, a home in the suburbs, love and a legacy that will never die. We all are better because of him and except for Eric who has passed away also, we are all united.
Leslie D.-Grandchild, Daughter or Maria V.
I remember sitting by the window waiting for the station wagon to pull up and rescue us. My brother and myself all packed for the weekend. Ready to go, anticipating my grandfather’s arrival and the sweet smell of cigar that clung to him. His smile was infectious as we came out of the building to greet him. I remember his scratchy beard as we kissed him hello. Slowly and carefully he would pull away from the curb.
I remember waking up early in the morning and Papito would be up making Bustello, hard boiled eggs and toast. To this day even though I don’t really drink coffee, I love the smell of fresh brewed coffee, because it reminds me of him.
Joel V- Grandchild, Son of Maria V
I remember when I was a kid my grandfather was the kindest, quietest, most thoughtful guy I knew which he had to be to offset my grandmother. Wait don’t get me wrong I love my grandmother very much but that woman was tough and you sure didn’t want to be on her bad side. I say that from watching her interact with others because she was always kind to me.
My grandfather was very lenient and forgiving as long as you didn’t interrupt two things, his baseball and his boxing. If you were foolish enough to do that then you deserved what you got.
In my grandmothers house, and yes even though they were married it was her house, the only place that my grandfather could really call his own was the basement and as a result of that that’s where all the male children wound up, from the bar with the fridge to the bedrooms it was all male. We could roughhouse down there, watch tv, hell we could almost kill each other down there, and very nearly did, and the ladies upstairs were none the wiser.
One of my fondest memories of my grandfather, and there are many, was when we went to visit along with my cousin Mark and there was baseball and boxing to watch. Well we were little and as little kids will we conversed with each other because to us at the time if we weren’t playing baseball it was boring to watch. After a while I guess we got on my grandfathers nerves. Well first you have to realize this was the late 70’s and he was an old Cuban gentleman. His solution was to give each of us a couple of sips of a Budweiser and as you can imagine the effects were immediate and satisfactory for his viewing pleasure because for the next couple of hours we sat there quiet, content, and very placated enjoying baseball.
Irene K. The third eldest.
Pablo Ciscart… Pablito, Papito, Papi, Daddy.
So much to so many. What a great memory you have left us all, of a fabulously patient Father, a loving and tolerant Spouse, a good provider, a decent, stylish, adventurous and fun loving Man.
Just to think of you puts a smile on my face. Thank You, Papi!
I’ll mention just one of many memories I keep with me always. As a little girl everyone knew that it was a sure thing that I would fall asleep in the car in transit to any destination. Well once home from that destination Daddy, not wanting to wake me, would always carry me out of the car, into the house and put me to bed.
I grew to love this gesture so much so that I remember being 8-9 years old, and making believe I was asleep so that Daddy would still carry me out of the car with long lanky legs dangling, take me into the house and put me to bed. A Daddy’s little girl… that was me. Happy Birthday
Daddy!
Dawn de la caridad C. The sixth oldest
What I remember most about the best man in the world, is when I was about five years old. We used to go to bed around 7pm, and my dad came home from work around 12am. My mother would wake me up after my brothers Pirito (Raphael) and Ruffino were asleep, just so I could say see dad in the basement. My father took me me to high school in the car he called Rolita, he’d take me in the morning and pick me up at 3pm on the dot. He was the funniest man I have ever known, and alway had a joke to say. I love my dad and truly miss him
Raphael P. C. The fifth eldest
Papito was agreat father, A great man, A great friend! I still remember sleeping in the crib and waiting until he got home from work to say good night! He held the same job for 30 years and gave me his name and his love. If I were to be born again I would hope to have the same father Pablo Ciscart a GREAT MAN & A GREAT FATHER!
Matthew C. The second youngest.
Like I stated earlier I was but, nine years old when Papito passed away, so unlike others in the family, my time with Papito was limited, yet he had his was endearing, ensuring he was not to be forgotten. I have two stories that stand out when Papito comes to mind. One story is my first vivid memory, the other is the last conversation we had, on the day of his passing. Though both are great as far as who, and the type of person he was, I will speak only of the first.
When I began school Papito would take Rolita, and drop me off at school every morning. Rolíta was the name he gave to the little red car he had. Every morning Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York would play on the radio, which til this day take me back to this day. After school though I’d take the school bus which dropped me off about three blocks from home, where Papito would meet me. One day the regular routine change and Papito picked me up from school, with a serious face, which by now you realize, was a rare occurrence. He began telling me how Mamita had received a call from school earlier in the day, about my behavior, and it wasn’t good. For the record Mamita was the law & order in the house, but it was never abuse. So with news of Mamita being in a not so pleasant mood, dad decided to take me on a detour. This detour was very welcoming, and soon I forgot about the phone call, not that Papito bothered to talk about the call. We went to the supermarket,to picked up a few items, and I had to carry the bread when we left. Don’t recall how it happened, but right outside the supermarket I found myself laying on the ground with the bread hanging out the bag on the sidewalk. In true Papito fashion, I was given the quick lesson in the “10 second rule”, he quickly brushed off the bread and put it back in the bag, and we headed home. I honestly forgot about the phone call and was more concerned about Mamita finding out about the bread, as Papito said she didn’t know bout the 10 second rule, and were not to tell her either. Well to end the story, I came to find out the call I dreaded was never received, and I had, had a wonderful journey with Papito. So Papito Happy Birthday, Love You Always, tu hijo Mateo.
From the Familia We Love You, Happy Birthday Papito, Papi, Dad, Abuelo.
