I can’t say he was the greatest. That term isn’t very flexible, and it strikes one as being placed on a pedestal. That may be fine for some people, but not him.
I’m referring to my Dad.
Dad was one of the most humble people I’ve ever known. He never tooted his own horn, so to speak. He would tell us stories about friends, coworkers, family members, but personal things like his experiences growing up? We had to ask. He just wasn’t the type to share stuff unless someone was genuinely interested. Back in my early teens, he was just Dad. As I grew older, I begin to learn more about him from others. And my amazement never stopped growing.
I recall one time I was visiting family in PR. I was 16 years old. My cousin and I were at the local basketball game and a very prominent looking gentleman came up to me and asked, “Are you (Dad’s) daughter?” Now, I look a lot like my father, so I wasn’t that surprised. I affirmed it and he asked me to say “Saludos” to Dad. I turned to my cousin and asked who he was. It was the Mayor. I asked myself, just how many people knew Dad?? Turns out the answer was EVERYONE. My dad was instrumental in establishing a gifted program at the local high school, and brought physics as a permanent addition to the curriculum. Why physics? Because of NASA. He worked there for years before coming back to his hometown to be a teacher, inspiring several students to go into the space sciences. Some of those students still talk about Dad to this day. Several years ago, several graduating classes held a tribute to him. His surprise was genuine and he made sure to tell them that the tribute is theirs, because they went on to achieve great things.
He taught me things you can’t find in books. He took a leap and came to Texas to work, bringing his family to a new frontier, literally. We were excited, but it was still a bit jarring. Dad made sure we assimilated but also to never forget our culture. Culture had a pen, not a pencil with an eraser. We added to it, never taking anything away. He never told us Life was fair. The older I get, the more I appreciate his IDGAF attitude. He really did not care about anyone’s opinion because it didn’t impact him. It took me a looooong time to get to that point. But he was right: an opinion isn’t carved in stone, and shouldn’t be weighed as if it were. He taught me that mistakes were just more steps to success. His was not the eye-roll so much as the closed-eyes-raised-eyebrows. That said far more than words ever could. He laughed with his whole being, a warm contagion that overtook anyone in its proximity. His disapproval, short-lived though it would be, could not be borne. Such was the measure of his profound character.
Now, the last chapter of his story has been written. This past Monday, a bit of the light in our hearts was dimmed with his passing. Memories will keep that light burning, but it won’t be as bright. Grief is love unexpressed, and the vessel holding it will expand to accommodate it in time. For now, it overflows and washes over like water on the sand.
Te quiero mucho, mi querido viejo. ❤
Sithy Things 