Rest In Peace, Lolo.

Today was my grandpa's funeral. This post is the eulogy I gave at the ceremony.

Hello Everyone, my name is Max Jones and I am one of Jesse Vegafria’s five grandchildren. I’m honored to speak before you all today. When I originally asked my mom if it’d be okay to share a few words, I was scared. I didn’t think I had the courage to stand up here. I thought I’d be too weak and bail out. I was worried I’d break down crying and be unable to speak. I’m building that courage as I go and please bear with me as I share some happy memories I shared with my grandpa. 

Lolo. Spelled L-O-L-O. To those of you who don’t know, that means Grandpa in Tagalog, my Lolo’s native language. I never learned to speak any Tagalog, but I was sure proud to tell people that my Lolo was from the Philippines. I’d lie and tell people that I had been there many times and I’d even fabricate the percentage of my own nationality to be more like my Lolo. I remember when we told him we were taking a family vacation to the Philippines and how excited we were. He, of course, just responded with “Oh, really!”. 

My Lolo was always an interesting man to me. Our family trip to Wisconsin every summer was never short of great moments with him. Starting from early on, he knew where my heart lied, the McDonald’s playhouse. He would pull out his red convertible from the garage, drop the top and tell my sisters and I to hop in. He’d swiftly drive us from their old house, down past Main Street and towards the McDonald’s. Hair blowing in the wind and chicken nuggets on the other end. I used to think my mom brought us out to Wisconsin just to get McDonald’s. My Lolo loved asking us to take rides in that convertible and he knew we loved to say yes. 

One year, my Lolo came all the way out to Cooperstown to spend Christmas with us. I was quite young at this point and wasn’t really sure how it was possible for my grandparents to get all the way out to New York. I mean we drove every summer, but there was no way in my mind that my Lolo drove all the way here. I had just gotten two new lightsabers, from Star Wars, for Christmas. I loved to have lightsaber battles with anyone that would dare to take me on. Sadly, no one ever wanted to take me on. That all changed when Lolo walked in the room. He was a fierce Jedi master and he knew all the moves. He battled me for hours at a time and giggled his way through it all. He finally explained after all the battles how he got to New York. He simply said “I flew my X-Wing”. He blew my young mind with that one line. 

As I got older and developed new interests other than McDonald’s and Star Wars, my Lolo pivoted the activities he would do with me. When he found out I had a deep love for playing golf, he broke out an old shag bag from the garage and we hit them in their backyard. He constantly asked me for swing advice and I tried my best to help. My Lolo counted every single ball we hit and wouldn’t let us go inside til each one was found. Although I knew the golf balls were 35 years old and worthless, I loved making sure I got every single last one with him. Even the ones I had to climb through the trees to get. 

The last couple times I saw my Lolo before he passed are some of the most meaningful now, although they have the shortest stories to tell. My Lolo said, without ever missing a beat, “my boy, my boy, my boy, Look how big you’ve grown” every time we arrived in Wisconsin. He also made sure my grades were good, which sometimes I fixed the numbers to him slightly. My Lolo was also a pretty stylin’ man and I believed it was my duty to keep him up to date on the up and coming trends. I sat and taught him to give fist bumps. He even learned to dab, back when it was the “in” thing to do. He let me sit in the massage chair and play Xbox when he was done with the news. He even taught me and my sister, Phoebe, how to play pool when I ran out of ideas for dance moves. All small things for sure, but they bring a smile to my face. I feel like I wasn’t the greatest grandson, but he sure was a great Lolo.

I know you all have some similar memories to share about my Lolo, and I hope to hear as many of them as possible. I’ll miss my Lolo dearly and I know he’ll be watching over me for the rest of my time. I love you Lolo, please drive that red convertible with the roof down, wind in your hair and smile on your face in heaven for me. Just like you did on our way to McDonald’s