The Felipaic Hand-Kissing Request

When I was a little girl, my mother used to force me to talk to my paternal grandmother–Felipa.  I didn’t know this particular grandmother, because my father didn’t live with my family, but my mother used to make me talk to her twice a year anyway. 

I always found the exchanges a little odd.  I would greet my grandmother, “Hola abuela” (a cardinal sin was to greet her “abuelita,” not sure why, but it became confusing as my maternal grandmother only wanted to be “abuelita”).  My Abuela Felipa would respond with “Besame la mano.”  At the time (and quite frankly now), I didn’t understand what exactly she meant for me to do when she made that request. 

Did she demand obeisance?  A kissing of the ring, perhaps? 

While her request struck my six-year-old brain as odd, I found myself making a puckering sound into the telephone receiver while making angry eyes at my mom that said, “Who the heck is this crazy lady and why do you think it’s good that I speak to her.”

Earlier this year, one of my discoveries was that the moment someone in my family becomes a grandmother, they too begin to demand that their grandchildren say odd things into telephone receivers.  

I observed the repeating of the cycle when my mother would speak to my niece and say, “Di agua.”  Why was my mother insisting that the 16-month old say the word “water”?  Did she foresee a day when the kid would be stranded in Mexico and not know how to ask for even the most basic of things?  Was my mother passing on her own unconscious fear of drowning?  Did she just want some kind of confirmation that the grandchild who was being raised among English speakers would  know at least a word of Spanish?

Since I am a curious one, I asked my mother why she insisted that my only niece, her only grandchild, say “water.”  And, she didn’t know.  She didn’t know why she’d had the same conversation with the child every day for three months.  She didn’t know why “agua” was the word and  not “platano” or “uva” or some other fruit the child enjoyed.  As my mom thought about my question, I saw an opportunity to do something for my niece that the child would likely never know or thank me for.

“Hey mom, remember when my Abuela Felipa used to call?  You know, I hated when she demanded ‘besame la mano.’”  I explained the confusion that I felt, and quite frankly, continue to feel, about the Felipaic hand-kissing request.  I also explained that I didn’t understand why my mother forced me to speak to this grandmother of whom I had no memory.   

A few days later, I heard my mother on the phone with my sister.  I only heard my mom’s side of the conversation, but it went something like, “That’s ok, if she doesn’t want to speak to me, don’t force her.” 

I asked my mom what was going on and she said that my niece was insisting that “No!” she wouldn’t speak to her grandmother.  I was impressed that my mom hadn’t taken the slight personally.  She knew that the kid was just learning the word and liked to say it, as the day care teacher had pointed out to my sister.  She knew that she was better off not talking to the kid and asking her to say “agua” for no particular reason.  She also knew that she would develop the kind of role in her grandchild’s life where it wouldn’t be scary to speak to abuelita, even when she did have some strange things to say. 

And I, I was glad to have aided my niece from afar, in the type of world where absentee grandmothers ask you to kiss their hands. 

© Laura Genao 2006