I had a Dad

Its my Dad’s birthday today. All week, I was feeling heavy emotions. Sadness, heaviness, heartbreak, stress. As some of you know, he was deported in 2008. He wasn’t the perfect man, he wasn’t even a good Dad, but he was mine. He made sure I didn’t need anything when I was growing up; he worked to provide for us, and he was funny. He had a laugh that was heard throughout the house. His smile lit up a room. He knew it too, especially after his braces. Mans had braces at 35+. We know why. I was happy to have a Dad, I will always have that. I loved those moments.

I had a Dad.

As I listen to “The Birds Don’t Sing” by Clipse, it brings me to tears. A song about the death of their parents. The conversations they had with them, and how they knew that their parents were proud of them. Knowing that proud feeling is something I yearned for. I don’t know if he was proud of me. I don’t know if he liked me. Was I what he pictured? Was I what he expected in a son? These are questions that hurt as I type them out, but it’s true, they hurt.

This week hit me like a ton of bricks. On Monday, my kids asked about you. They don’t know who you are. They don’t know what you look like. They don’t know your voice. I don’t even think they know I am a Jr. That’s where it ends, though, I carry your name. But I am not you at all. I might have the smile, the eyebrows, the eyes, the crooked pinkies, but I am not you. As I‘m cooking dinner and complaining about getting the wrong beans at the grocery store, Camila asks, “Dad, what did your dad teach you?”. I’m sure you’re thinking, “nah, why would she ask that?”. Trust me, this 10-year-old is the most curious person I know! I thought, what did he teach me? You taught me a lot. I started rambling about how the song that was playing is so good. I’m trying to avoid the question. But why? What am I trying to hide? I take a breather as I start to serve the beans. I tell her, “Man, so damn much.” I sit at the table and tell both kids about how you taught me how to dress, treat other people, have conversations with anyone, how to cook, how to care about my hygiene, how to try and fix what you break, most importantly, he taught me what not to do.” Camila responded with a confused face. I thought I should provide context. I told her that he taught me what not to do by showing how I could be a better parent than he was.

And that’s that. I carry your name, but I am not you at all. I am completely different. I am proud of my kids, I care for my kids, I love my kids, I am made whole by my kids. I know that the laughs, the tears, the joy, the gray hair that they already give me, the memories, the moments of growth, the pressure they put on me, it is all worth it. We weren’t worth it to you.

I forgive you.

Happy Birthday, My G.