Thank You, Paps

I want to wish a belated happy Father’s Day to all you dads on this email chain. No, not the dog or fish dads. That’s cute, but it doesn’t count. I sometimes find myself responding to the question “do you have kids?” with “yes! I’m a bun-dad, it’s a full time job!” For the first few seconds after saying it, I feel so clever. Then, after seeing the forced chuckle and nervous neck scratch of the person I’m speaking to, I feel an intense revulsion and I start to sweat nervously, knowing full well I’ve just branded myself as a total dorkus.

There’s a lot I’ve grown to love about my dad. His larger-than-life personality, his inability to keep a secret, his uncanny ability to say the right thing at the absolute worst possible time, his refusal to walk past any human or dog without having an uncomfortably long conversation. I also love his necessity to compliment things he finds beautiful - whether it’s a plant, a car, a landscape, or a woman. When he does compliment a woman, he has to panic justify the compliment by assuring the recipient that he is not a creepy old guy, and that his compliment is purely admiration, like one admires an art piece or an Italian sculpture, and is by no means sexual. He goes on to explain that it used to be ok to compliment a woman, and before he knows it he has dug a hole so deep for himself that no one will be able to hear him by the end of the conversation.

I also have great admiration for his respect for human dignity. Instead of crossing the street to avoid the raggedy, bloodshot-eyed homeless guy shouting at the moon, as most would; he crosses the street to give him a hug and make sure he has enough water and food to get him through the next couple of days (this would send my mom in to a panicked frenzy).

But the main thing I appreciate about my dad is that even though he was tougher with me than I would have liked (ex: in high school, he confiscated my phone and dropped me off at a police station and said “I’ll pick joo up in the morning, pendejo” when he caught me drunk after school), and he’d embarrass me in front of my friends, and he’d threaten to take away everything I loved if I got C’s at school (which I did frequently), he was always…there. Present. Even if it was worrying, scolding, taking my Game Boy; he was there. Raising me, in his own way - doing the best he could do, with the knowledge he had. Having left his home in Peru at 13 to live on his own, he didn’t have much to emulate. But I’d say he did a damn good job. And I will be forever indebted to him for that. 

Love you, paps.