My Only Memory of my Grandfather

It was 1992 Oaxaca Mexico. I was visiting for the first time ever from NY at nine years old I was coming from the center of the most advanced city in the world. The powerful lights of Times Square and excitement of Shea stadium filling my mental acuity of what I was used to.

New York culture is a true mix of everything to include innovations in marketing with ads and logos lining famous streets and buildings. What I wasn’t ready for at nine years old was seeing the extreme opposite in Oaxaca. My Mother was born and raised in Oaxaca in a town called Huajuapan de León. A very rural area compared to New Rochelle Ny, the city in which I was raised just 15 min down the road from the Bronx Ny where I was born. My very headstrong mother raised the 4 of us by herself in NY. My father was the son of a wealthy man in Oaxaca and was known as a rich bratty young man that liked to party. He left us when I was about five years old. I never understood how someone could just abandon a family and leave.

An invite from my grandmother to visit her bought us down to Mexico. My mother’s mother. We stayed at my mom’s childhood home for a couple of weeks until my mom passed us over to my father who I hadn’t seen in 3 years. My mom explained to me and my sisters that she agreed that my father needed to spend time with us and to give him a chance to be a father. The rural and quiet feel to small town Mexico was almost supernatural to me. I was in a foreign land with my sisters and an absent father. Two long weeks with my father in his town called “Oaxaca”.

Power outages were common along with keeping guard dogs on rooftops as a line of defense. My father lived on an ample corner lot which sold grain, cement, and various animal feed. Their store front was also home to his parents and his sisters. A total of 3 relatives with their families shared the complex. Coming from NYC to a place that has undrinkable water was a new perspective I never had.

During one of the days that I was there, it happened to play out that I was to accompany my grandfather a couple of towns over for some business that needed to be done. My sisters were spending time with my aunts and cousins. My father?  Well, who knows what he was up to and why he couldn’t watch me, but I like to think it’s because of the never-ending energy I had as a kid. I would always find myself in these positions where I was pushed off on other people simply because I think differently and my enormous enthusiasm.

“Well, it’s me and you today get ready.” My grandfather woke me that day.  We set out in his truck just me and him. It was a beautiful day. the sights full of green hills, grazing goats and endless mountainous terrain. My grandfathers single cab truck was pretty comfy, and we drove what seemed like forever through beautiful country roads of Oaxaca. “I imagine you’re hungry?” my grandfather asked in Spanish. I shook my head yes. “we’re coming up to the town let’s get you something to eat.” What a treat. My father’s mother took care of us in every way but to be honest I couldn’t stand any of the food she served us. shortly into the two weeks stay I voiced my complaints about the taste of the water, food, and milk she served us.

I was known as the spoiled kid from NY who had very expensive taste. I was nine years old and never in my life did I eat raw and unpasteurized dairy products let alone from a goat. To hear my grandfather tell me we were stopping to get some local food made me excited. The street tacos I ordered were accompanied by an icy Coca-Cola I ordered.

“Will you be taking the order to go?” asked the kind woman as she opened the iconic glass curvy bottle and handed to me. I reached over and grabbed it and took a gulp from the iconic bottle that I’ve seen my whole life and never held until that day in Mexico.

“Yes, he can finish it in the truck.” “Hand her back your Coke” my grandfather asked me as the woman pulled out a straw and small sandwich bag.

“What for?” I asked my grandfather.

“Were not in New York where you can leave your bottles anywhere.” scolded my grandfather. “Here in Mexico, you have to pay extra to keep it in that glass bottle, so either slam it or I’ll have to pay extra for taking it with us.” The words and information that he was describing were foreign to me. For the first time ever, I held the iconic bottle and was asked to hand it back over.

“No were taking it to go in the bottle I asserted to my grandfather.” What a preposterous request was being asked of me. Locals were quite aware of this process, and I watched as she sold a couple of “to go” sodas by pouring the drink into a sandwich bag placing a straw inside and tying it off as she handed the “to-go” drink over to the customers while she kept the empty bottles in crates.

My grandfather looked at me and then over to the vendor and spoke.

“That’s Danielito’s Son, can’t you tell?” He paid the extra for the bottle and I took my meal to go. We drove for hours and with the drink and food long gone the empty bottle lay in my hands. Being away from my mom and having to spend the time with relatives who were strangers was awkward enough. I sat in the truck with my grandfather. He drove and I stared at the empty coke bottle for hours. The drive was the most beautiful I’d ever seen.  So much green and animals everywhere.

This is one of my only vivid memories of my grandfather interacting with me. It’s funny how life comes full circle and the memories one decides to keep. The Coca-Cola logo and bottle continues to inspire me to this day. One of my passions is finding ways to innovate in a futuristic way like how Coca-Cola introduced the iconic curvy bottle back in 1916. Why was a curvy bottle design such a big deal then?  Well, it was born of necessity. When you have a winning product or service you’ll have blatant copycats. These imitators were taking away business in the sales of the Coca-Cola beverage.

The solution to the problem was a matter of design. In 1916 the glass bottlers in the country only had straight bricklike designs for glass bottles. What if we created a very distinct glass bottle which would only be used for and by Coca-Cola? That pitch was sent out to all the bottlers of America. It was the best counter measure that absolutely couldn’t be duplicated because the design nor the technology existed at the time. Inspired by the coca bean’s curve and ribs. Two employees from the Root Glass Company of Terre Houte, Indiana. Earl Dean and Clyde Edwards created the iconic coke bottle design we all know. More than 100 years later and no new innovative bottle design…I created one.