🦖 Don’t look now but there is a dinosaur to you left!
That is what my grandfather used to say when he drove us from SĂŁo Paulo to our hometown in the countryside every time we flew in from Brasilia to spend our holidays with our grandparents. He was referring to a gas station along the Castelo Highway that, for some funny reason, has a dinosaur park.
My sister and I thought his comment was cheeky and often repetitive as we knew it wasn’t a dinosaur. Duh, Vô, we said. But my grandfather would make us laugh every time — I think he just wanted to make the three-hour drive less boring to hyperactive little girls. His car smelled like hidden cigarettes and unhealthy bacon snacks with cha-cha-cha music playing on the radio and water bottles under the seats; after all, he owned a beverage distribution company.
Helio Angelo Basso, more commonly known as Lelé or simply Vô to me, passed away on October 16th, 2024, a few months before turning 80. And for some strange reason, I am getting to know him better after his death.
December 2024 was a time of overwhelming moments, with his friends paying tributes to him and my family. And apart from the multiple “my condolences” from strangers and a weird feeling of emptiness every time I look at his reclining chair in the living room, I feel joy in finding out he would stay up until 2 am playing truco with his friends, going fishing every Saturday to drink beer with other fishermen, and was the head of protocol at his Rotary club.
My grandfather and I share the same passion for reading, a natural inclination to being a morning person, an interest in protocol and etiquette, and a certain shyness when speaking in public that he taught me can be overcome. We have a very similar pointy and arrogant nose, and despite my great-grandfather’s prediction, the Basso last name did not disappear with the many women in our family because I proudly use it. Giovanna Basso.
Helio Angelo Basso will forever be my grandfather, a quintessential man from the 1950s who would smirk when I complimented him, saying he looked like Elvis Presley (he was so handsome!). A conservative and traditional man and yet warm, charismatic, and well-humorous. A man of simple habits and immense social tact. Someone who sheepishly taught me how to curse in Italian (“it is not elegant for women to curse!”) and still read my feminist book because he was proud of me. He was lively but complained about my music taste, convincing me to listen to classical music and 1960s hits, for which I am very grateful. He wanted to appear distant because that is how he was taught to behave as the head of the family, but he would proudly tell his friends his granddaughter lived in South Korea; can you imagine her eating with chopsticks? He would ask me every day at lunchtime what I ate in India because he couldn’t possibly imagine what Indian food tastes like — yes, I have videos of him eating spicy snacks from my semester in Hyderabad. I got him a cup holder from India, telling him it was from the same marble from the Taj Mahal, hoping he would believe it. It was the only gift I saw him use.
I will never forget his caramel eyes grasp for light for the last time at the hospital or the joy of saying things that would make his heart beat slightly faster, even for a millisecond. His heart rate increased when we shared stories of me drinking wine in Italy and my cousin promising to be a Palmeiras fan if he got better. His biggest dream was to visit Greece, which I did in 2024. I never got to gift him an Athenian liquor I bought at a tourist shop although my favorite memory is getting tipsy in the hospital’s restaurant with my mother, aunt, and uncle. It was the only way we got through October 16th.
I write these paragraphs because he still owes me a waltz lesson and has not taught me about personal marketing and branding. Mind you; my grandfather was a Marketing Professor with two degrees in Marketing and Accounting in the 1960s —such a nerd. He has a YouTube channel sharing stories, marketing anecdotes and jokes. He also had over 300 orchids in his backyard and filled our house with flowers.
A part of me wants to believe I am his favorite granddaughter, and we will never know the truth. Only three people in this world have the privilege of calling Helio Basso “grandpa”; it is an honor and privilege to be one of them.
My point with these words is that there is so much we can do in our lives and learn about those around us if we only look at people with affection and good humor.
Look to your left and smile at the person next to you.
