Flyin' Kites: In Memory of Pepere

When I think of kites,I think of warm, breezy summer vacation days in Whittier's Palm Park. I think of a man whose solitary life drew him to the art of kite-flying.
I think of my grandfather, Pepere.

Pepere, (which mean's grandpa in French - or so we were told by him) was my dad's dad. Pepere made colorful kites and flew them just across the street from the house where my dad grew up in Southern California. He made simple but interesting kites. Watching him fly from a young age was always fun but being an active child, I never stuck around long enough to fully enjoy it. Yet Pepere never did it with fan and flare. He did it for himself. He did it quietly. He did it for his creative, demonstrative side to his solitary soul.

Pepere had quite a collection going by the time he was 90 years old. I regret not requesting them when he passed away. As time went by and he flew less and less while he was alive, I thoroughly enjoyed the times he did get out to watch him perfect his hobby.

Legend has it that one summer on His visit to Nevada, we took Pepere and some of his kites to Mills Park to fly. My dad warned him that Nevada winds can be brutal, but Pepere didn't listen. Stubborn man that he was, he rarely listened. He was a man set in his ways. Although rumor has it he liked listening to my mom over a glass of cream cherry. Who doesn't? You don't even need cream cherry to enjoy listening to her.

Pepere had his kite flying so high that day and before long, those Nevada winds turned for the worst. He had to cut the line or be overpowered with his arm out of socket. The kite dove straight down into a tree trunk and embarrassingly enough, it stayed in that tree for weeks.

His tenacity, his stubborn nature must have started young. He had reason to be that self willed. Somewhere around 10 years old, he had to grow up and help parent his siblings. His father was a severe alcoholic and Pepere became sole provider for the family. Hard working, through the depression, he was a man with opinions and he raised three boys each with their own expressions and ways.

Recently I got to thinking about Pepere and his kites primarily because of some good Southern California memories and curiosity as to what Pepere enjoyed most in flying those instruments. Maybe the kites helped him soar above the daily grind and get him far beyond the reality of what his life had been for 90 years. Not that it was bad. By no means, for Pepere did well. He purchased a home for his bride and three boys in Whittier, which at the time was filled with orange groves. Not today! And for some 80 years he had been a hard worker, diligently providing and plodding along for his family, taking pristine care of his home. Feisty, testy, but true and loyal to what needed to get done.

Kites are tethered aircrafts and maybe that was the joy Pepere found. He could move past his limitations and life as it had been for those brief moments, knowing he'd come back to the security of the life he labored so hard to create. I know Pepere had pain and I'm sure there were a lot of things he never fully worked through. There were things about Pepere that I really loved. His tenacious talks with me about why I wanted to be a lawyer anyways. And then I thought about the blessing and inheritance he left for his sons. He flew kites, but he was also anchored. A tethered life is a blessed life to me.