I remember.

When I was young, my grandpa would pick me up from elementary school and drive my brother and me home. About three times a week, rain or shine, we'd ask him to drive us to Thrifty's. Back then, it was 25 cents for a single scoop of ice cream, the best dang ice cream a quarter could buy. It went up to whopping 35 cents by the sixth grade. My grandpa would always stop by, and we would run in to buy ice cream as he waited in the car. We'd then buy my grandpa a single scoop of strawberry. When I look back on it now, he must have developed such a great dislike for strawberry ice cream because that's the only flavor we bought him. For years, we fed him strawberry ice cream. He never complained or asked for anything different. He just told us we were the best grandkids.

I've been putting off blogging since my grandpa passed away. It's hard to put into words the loss I feel. It doesn't happen every moment of every day, but a deep pain bites at me every so often. Today, I saw a couple of grandpas with canes, just chatting. Such a sadness hit me...I'll never be to see my grandpa again.

It's bizarre how fast time flies by. This past March, right after I took the Bar exam, I came down to LA and took my grandparents to Black Angus for dinner. Nothing too fancy. I just wanted to get them steak. We got the three course meal and my grandpa cleaned house. Only two months later, he got sick and his body just couldn't hang with his mind.

My grandpa was the classic man. He had all the good and all the bad. He wasn't your typical grandfather. He never smelled like mothballs, but smelled like cologne. He wore slacks with a belt, and a nice shirt regardless of whether he was watching TV or going out. He didn't believe in sweat pants. In fact, he'd shudder at the mere suggestion of it.

He was old school, came from a time when women were just women, and he held onto that belief somewhat until the day he died. Still, he believed in me. The same man that told me I could never win a family poker match because I was a woman also told me he had no doubt that I would pass the Bar and become a very successful attorney.

It's very difficult for me to be who I am and try to understand my gender-roled family. I'm constantly reminded that I am a woman by our cultural traditions.

My mom has always been my role model. She is and always has been the do-everything mom. Yet, that same admirable quality is also why I think she's so weak. She let's my dad, my grandpa's son, treat her like just a woman instead of the freakin' most awesome woman that she is. By doing everything, she let my dad believe that he didn't have to do anything.

I remember why I hated living at home so much. My dad. I hate this gender role shit that has been passed down from my grandpa to my dad, and sadly, to my brother. I am so damn lucky that Mr. O and his family are nothing like the men in my family.

It goes without saying, I miss my grandpa terribly. He is my culture, my history, my roots. I have chosen to take from him what is good and leave behind what I think is wrong. My grandpa has definitely molded me into the fireball that I think I am. For that, I am forever grateful.