Papa Dato // მამა კარლო

My host Grandfather is a funny man. Let's call him Dato. Dato works at the Village cemetery cutting gravestones, hardly ever speaks, has a permanent endearing scowl on his face, carries his shotgun with him on a regular basis, and eats whole chickens for lunch. I told my neighbor once that I really like Dato (which is true) even though we never speak to each other. She, of course, translated this immediately into Georgian for him, and he responded by giving me a quick nod and a half-smile through his lit cigarette. Other than that, our interactions are limited to my waving and smiling when I see him at work, and exchanging hello’s and how-are-you’s. A few nights ago, however, Dato came home drunk. He was singing something in Georgian. He sat down on the couch next to me and gave me a hug, then babbled in Georgian for a while before his wife convinced him to switch to Russian. It was patchy, but our conversation went something like this:

- Dato, where were you?

- I was in town with my friends!

- In Samtredia? (The city close to our village)

- Yeah! Samtredia! Listen, Sarah, when do you leave Georgia?

- June.

- Eh? July?

- …Actually, June.

- Ok, July. When you leave in July, I will give you a gift. It will be a giant Khantsi (animal’s horn) filled with Tcha-Tcha (homemade vodka). I want to give this to you. A really big one, not empty, but full. Full of tcha-tcha. Do you want some tcha-tcha now? Just a little?

- No, Dato, not right now. Thanks, though.

- Tomorrow?

- Sure, Dato. Tomorrow.

- Sarah, good girl. You are my child --- Ok? I never had a daughter. I have sons. One son, and another son, and you will be my first daughter. For my wife too, you are her daughter. We will come to America, and we will live in one house. We will have one house in America, and another house in Georgia!

- Good idea, Dato. Let’s do it.

- Ok. I will wait for you to get my visa, and then I will come to America. My daughter, Sarah!

- Sounds like a plan.

- Uuuuggghhh…

- Dato, does your head hurt?

- Huh? Yeah…. My head hurts… Time to lie down.

- Ok. Time for bed. Goodnight, Papa Dato.

- Goodnight, my daughter Sarah!

The next morning everything was back to normal. I jokingly called him Papa Dato and got the same half-smile as he scratched his head and lit his morning cig. If I ever have the means to make it happen, this whole family is coming home with me to America. Especially Papa Dato.

Lots of Love to my real Dad-o, and everyone else on the other side of the world,

Sarah