“I hate small talk.  I want to talk about atoms, death, aliens, sex, magic, intellect, THE MEANING OF LIFE, faraway galaxies, the lies you’ve told, your flaws, your favorite scents, your childhood, what keeps you up at night, your insecurity and fears.  I like people with DEPTH, who speak emotion from a twisted mind.  I don’t want to know “what’s up.” ~Author Unknown

I LOVE to tell stories, I love to HEAR stories.  We all have a story, we all have chapters and chapters filled with joy, anguish, sorrow, anger, fears, loss, LOVE… that’s the beauty of our lives.

October is my dad’s birthday month, he will be celebrating 82 glorious years on this earth in just a few days.  His name is Wilfredo “Fero”, and he himself is a walking book with many chapters.  Some of which have been painful and challenging.

My dad suffered many losses in the course of his life, physical (the loss of a young brother and sister) and financial losses, which in return caused him emotional pain and made him somewhat of an introvert.  The dad I grew up knowing until around the age of 12 years old, was a loving and fun dad that planned many camping trips and loved to hike, a nature lover by heart.  But one day he changed, the pain was just too deep for him to bear.  In my teen years I struggled dealing with his personality, having the most loving, energetic and charismatic mother in the world, it was hard for me to understand why my dad couldn’t be the same way.  Whenever I would point out a personality trait I didn’t like about my dad, my mom always said “look for the good, your dad has many qualities.”  And so I did, it wasn’t always easy, but I tried my best.

Some of my dad’s biggest qualities are his honesty, generosity and humbleness.  He’d do anything for anyone that needs his help, and always without much fuss, always unnoticed.  My dad is also one of the smartest people I’ve ever known, growing up I truly don’t remember a day when he didn’t have a book in his hands.  One of his favorite authors is Miguel de Cervantes, author of the famous and world known “Don Quixote”.   He’s also always been a classical guitar enthusiast and one of my favorite memories growing up is when he took my brothers and I, ages 10, 11 and 12 to see the Uruguayan classical guitarist Alfredo Zitarrosa in concert.  My brothers and I were the only children in the auditorium and I remember at that age feeling very special and ecstatic about attending the concert.  My dad always played Alfredo Zitarrosa’s records at home, cup of coffee and cigarette in hand, carefully listening to every single lyric of the songs which carried deep messages of love, grief and triumph.

My dad is also one of the best conversationalists, he is just so well read, he can talk about anything.  He knows about politics, social justice issues, cattle raising, farming, theology, sports and so much more.  I have always deeply admire his thirst for knowledge, to this day, he has never stopped learning.

Two years ago, my youngest brother fell gravely ill and we witnessed many miracles during his stay in the hospital.  During my visit to Mexico to see my brother in the hospital, I’d like to think that I had my own miracle, my reconciliation with my dad. My dad and I always kept an amicable relationship, I knew deep down that he was a good man, a man of honor and that he loved me, but I didn’t allow myself to see beyond that, immaturity perhaps.  It was during that particular visit to Mexico that my dad and I had the opportunity to spend time with each other and see each other in a different light.  The long days at the hospital and the anguish everyone was feeling about the uncertainty of my brother’s health, was starting to take a toll on my dad’s 80 year old body and soul.  I offered to stay with him that day, mainly because I myself was feeling very drained from the long hours and awful news we would get every day in the ICU of the hospital about my brother.  My decision to stay home with my dad that day allowed space for my dad and I start working (without notice) on healing our broken relationship and the ordinary conversations we shared, set me free in many ways. 

We had many conversations that day.  One of the things my dad shared with me that day was his experience playing professional baseball for a minor league in Mexico City when he was young and also about attending college to become a radio person.  During our conversation that day, my dad poured his heart and soul and I witnessed his pain and love for us and I was finally able to see and understand who he really was.  Truly, a blessing for me… a blessing for both of us.

I remember vividly the day I was leaving my hometown during that visit to come back home to Stan and the girls.  The morning I left, it was just me, my dad and my mom in the house.  A shuttle was coming to pick me up and as the shuttle pulled up and we got ready to say our goodbyes -excruciating goodbyes, as we didn’t know the physical challenges my brother would still face- I hugged my dad with the same love and intensity as I had always hugged my mom in the past when saying goodbye every time I visited.  In that short moment, I felt an immense sense of peace.  I walked away knowing that the pain I had carried with me for years about my relationship with my dad, had been healed. 

Sometimes the way back home shows up in the least expected ways.  Love you, dad and happy birthday in advance! ❤