My Dad.
Born in 1936 in the town of Jayuya, Puerto Rico and leaving us in 2018, the last almost 13 years, since he retired and moved down to SC, were the best years of my life with him. Yes, he had his way of annoying the heck out of me to wits end with his stubbornness and being set in his own ways, but those were a nit, compared to the laughter and incredible memories we built together over the last years of his life that healed all wounds between us.
From the beginning, all I wanted to do is make my dad proud. I remember when I was very young, the man I knew was a guarded man. An honest man. One that pushed you to better yourself, because it always appeared nothing you did, would be enough. His values of his family, his work, his word defined who he was.
I was a descent kid, never getting into trouble, but never standoffish or sticking out. Very shy and always respectful. A clear tribute to who my parents were, but especially my dad. Humble, Honorable, Respectful, Hard working, Love of Family, Faith and Grateful to be able to enjoy the most basic things in life. Those were all of his primary values, in no particular order, and they define me as well. Well maybe the first one is something that can bet questioned at times, but we're not going there at this time.
Until I was able to evolve into my own identity, confident of my ability to judge right from wrong, I respected dad, but mostly because I feared him. He was not mean or evil, but he was definitely strict. He did not tell you he loved you, but you absolutely knew he did. He did not raise his voice unless you did something that deserved it and so much more. He had high expectations of us, but most of the time, looking back, he was not being unreasonable. He was definitely old school though.
I was a good student, mostly bringing home A's and B's, but at times got my fair share of C's and D's also. Especially when I got into this mode of not doing my homework when I was in elementary school. Looking back, I was just lazy but also bored and distracted. I would bring home my report card with the A's and B's when I made the honor roll, but my dad's response was always, why did you get a B and why not an A? I need to try harder. He would then go on to tell me that he did not have this chance to go to school.
When he was about a month from finishing up his 2nd grade, his teacher told him that he had been promoted to the 3rd grade and that he did not have to come back for the last month. He had learned everything he needed at his age. His father took it as he had learned enough and took him out of school so he can tend to the animals, do outside chores and bring his lunch to the field where his father worked.
Dad repeated this story every time we got our grades or when he let his guard down and had one too many drinks. His sadness about not being able to go on to college and get a career to change the pattern of poverty and a hard life he had really bothered him and he let us know every time one of those two things triggered this pain.
Dad loved his baseball, especially his Mets. I did too. We would always watch it on TV, even though we grew up about an hour or so from Shea Stadium. Going "to the city" was not something dad was anxious to do. He actually lacked the confidence to do that and always waited for a trip to go with several other families and friends, usually sponsored by the Puerto Rican club that dad was a key part of. Actually, it would not surprise me if it was always his idea but he usually worked with someone else to rent the bus and plan it. That's when we would go, to get the nosebleed seats and experience hot dogs at the park. That was a once a year or every other year event.
I played baseball when I was growing up and loved the game. But for me, it was a lonely game as dad would not go to many of my games. He would come home from work and even though he had nothing to do, besides watching the Mets on TV, he would not attend my game except for once in a while. One time, when I was about 12 and had come home from one of my games, I asked him, how come he would not go to my games, and his response was, "Pa que? Si tu solo va a poncharte." (Why? All you do is strike out.). Looking back, he probably made me more nervous when he did show up that my greatness in the diamond, at least in my mind, was only when he wasn't there. That's when I seemed to play my best.
Every week, it seemed, he would write letters to his family in Puerto Rico. He would send letters to his parents, his brothers and sisters, asking how they were, reporting what was happening in NJ. It is how he communicated with them and stayed in touch. Of course, that was way before computers and even though we had a telephone, they did not in Jayuya, and phones were for emergency purposes. If we needed to get a hold of them in an emergency, then dad would have to call the police department in Jayuya, and specifically ask for one of my uncle's brothers, to drive up and give a message to my dad's family, so that they can call him collect, from the phone booth in the center of town.
This was especially true every spring, as my dad's brothers, would be making the annual trek to NJ from PR, to work in landscaping with my dad. They wanted to know if he had secured the job for them and how much they would be getting paid, to see if it was worth them coming. Making money in PR in the 70's was very difficult. So many people left there for the Spring/Summer/Fall to work in the fields picking tomatoes and crops, landscaping the highways and personal homes that hired contractors, or odd jobs and ends. My dad would send them money at times, to help pay for them to come or just because he had that duty to send money he earned to them. I remember my mom and I getting money orders to send to them in the letters dad wrote. Then seeing my uncles come, was something we all looked forward to. To this day, the love and admiration I have for my family in Puerto Rico is completely due to the close relationship my dad had with his family. He bestowed and nurtured that bond with them that we still feel deep in our hearts.
My dad got up in the morning around 5 AM, had his breakfast, usually cereal with coffee, which he happily shared with the dog, and was out the door by 6 AM. Let's be clear, the cereal was Corn Flakes, and the coffee was what he poured in his cereal, along with a separate cup. Try it one day. Even our dog Rusty loved it. No special dog food for that dog, and definitely no mostly sugar based cereal for us. Corn Flakes and Cheerios were all we had growing up.
However, seeing him get up early to go to work, and come home around 5:30 PM, take a shower, have dinner and then settle in at home, was the routine, every day. He also expected us to be home at that time. In the town I grew up in, there was a fire alarm test that occurred every night at 6 PM. His expectation, aside from my baseball games, was that if we heard that sound, we had to be home, inside. I know it seems hard, but I also know it was harder for my sisters who did not enjoy the freedom I had to at least be out around the neighborhood playing with friends until then. This comment is not to show his unreasonableness or strictness but his desire to protect his family and ensuring that we were raised right and did not get into any trouble.
That said, it was not like we played board games or cards with him either. We would watch TV, the only one we had in the house, so if it was not baseball, that's when we would watch other stuff like Little House on the Prairie, the Watson's, or some other western which he loved. Our Sunday night highlights were a Disney movie they would give on TV.
Every Sunday we would go to church and we needed to be there 30 minutes before mass. Dad's view was that if we were to arrive someplace even 15 minutes before we were supposed to be there, we were late. He would pray every night and make sure we prayed before we went to bed ourselves but we never prayed together as a family. Matter of fact it was mom who taught us to pray. Born a cradle Catholic, Dad believed that the Catholic church is the only church and faith. That was a key part of who he was and how he raised us.
When dad would have his talks with me, it usually ended up with a handshake to make sure I understood what he was saying and to make sure I kept my word. His word was his bond and I grew up thinking the same way. If you are going to say or do something, mean it. Otherwise, don't do or say it at all. There was no hugging after the fact and especially no kisses, but there was no doubt in our minds he loved us. It was just how he showed it and who he was. His "You know about, you know" conversation to me before I got married was a beer and a handshake when I said, "yes dad, I know". He then gave me a hug and laughed. Clearly an uncomfortable discussion for him to have, or not have, with me.
We used to always ask for the "Bendición", which is to ask for a blessing, that almost all Puerto Ricans ask, from their parents and elders. At one point, after I turned about 16 and was starting to define myself and put my own stake in the ground, I asked him if he would ever deny me a blessing if I asked for it. He was taken aback and said no. I then said "Then there is no reason for me to ask for one as it is implied that I will always get one. I prefer a hug and a kiss when we greet or when we leave as a show of affection". He looked bothered about it, but then that's what I got ever since that day. More on this in another post.
I can go on for quite a bit with these memories but my point is not to focus on the negative aspects of my simple upbringing, but to focus on the important memories and how he made up for his demeanor, later in his years as he mellowed, had grandchildren and retired. It was what he knew and what had learned himself growing up.
Over the years, after I moved down, dad would come to visit us a few times a year and it was obvious that he missed me and I of course, missed him. When he was getting up in age, nearing retirement, I had to take an emergency flight up to NJ, due to an illness he had that put him in the hospital. I told him that he had to move down. That it was time for his retirement but also promised him that I would take care of them. It was our turn to do so.
To my sons, nephews or nieces and the rest of the family, I am sure the words here are probably strange or come across like I am describing a different person. Dad or "Papa" is, or was to them nothing like what I described. He would call them on their birthdays, tell them how much he loved them, would make their favorite meals, always gave them a hug and a kiss, and really had no problem showing them how much he loved them.
When asked to go to a baseball game, go to a park, or even go to a ballgame, dad was "all in". But the thing he loved most, was to be with all of us. He loved playing dominoes, making his delicious food, and just being together.
My core values towards working hard, what I say and how I act, my love for family, enjoyment of coming and being home with Luisa, respect for others, personal humility, in that I don't brag about what I have or others lack, honor in doing what is right and showing people through my actions and not just my words are all rooted in what I learned from Dad. My faith, while not as blind to other religions or faiths as dad, definitely shaken through what I have been through recently, still at its core, guides me to talk the talk and walk the walk. At least through my actions and not just my words.
Dad changed over the years to soften his edges towards many things. He was still stubborn at times, but very open to change. He still struggled with words though. He would tell us he loved us but usually, only as a response to it being initiated by us. He would, however, pick out the most amazingly deep and profound cards at the store and it was clear he took a long time to get just the right one, so that he could express how he really felt.
Just like a boulder with rough edges, over time, it gets weathered and smooth. Dad was the rock of the family and his character and ways became my foundation as a father.
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