“Hola pa, como te fue?” , I would say,  “Bien mija” , he would respond, “Cansado?, “Un poco mija”  this is our usual conversation. Acting like he isn’t tired, yet I can see it right in his sleepy eyes. He is limping as he heads  to his room, his leg is swollen again form standing up for too long. He might not realize it but I love him so much, we don’t talk much but I do care about him. You see me and my dad have never been close. My description of close is when you are able to tell someone everything or if you need some advice. Me and my dad don’t have that connection. It’s hard at times because there are so many times where I just want to have a conversation with him but it just doesn’t work. Especially when he picks me up from basketball practice, the ride back home is as silent as the wind at night. I appreciate what he does for the family. He is hardworking, determined and cares too much. This man is my father.

He has overcome many challenges as he got older. He never got as far as middle school because he decided to work to help my grandma to pay the bills. Since he was in Mexico at the time it didn’t matter, kids dropped out of school all the time. My grandpa came to the United States to find work to help pay the bills back at home.   My dad became the man of the house at the age of 12. With a younger sister and a mother who didn’t work because a woman's place is at home cleaning, he had to go out into the real world and grow faster than a lot of us do.

By the time he was 16 he had decided that he was going to come to the United States to find a better life. At that time my dad and my grandpa didn’t talk. It was hard on him. One night he had gone into my grandparents bedroom and told them, “Me voy a ir al norte” . It took him 3 nights in the hot desert and finally got a ride to Chicago. He had told me, “Fue muy duro mija, dejar a tu abuelita y abuelito” . Once he got to Chicago he started to work in a factory. “No quiero verte trabajando en una fábrica como yo” . he tells me.

A few years later, my grandpa died from a heart attack. It had been really hard for my dad.  My dad was about 23 years old, when he found out that his father had had a heart attack. The fact that he had just started to talk to his father made it even worse. They had started to forget why they were mad at each other. And then he went. My dad doesn’t like to talk or show about how he feels. For example, last time we went to Mexico I asked him why he never said goodbye to our family who lived there,  his response was, “ Porque los voy a volver a ver”.  Even though he didn’t show it, I knew he was upset that we were leaving. I was probably about 11 years old when I first went to Mexico,  when we came back a few months later he found out that his grandma had passed away. You knew that he cared a lot for his grandma, and that also impacted him. He never got to see her after that last time that we went to Mexico. I can see why he doesn’t like saying goodbye.  Goodbye is a way of saying that you won’t see them again. My dad has lost a few of the many people he cares about so he decided that goodbye was not part of his vocabulary.

He works many hours a day in a factory that makes computer parts. He wakes up before the sun goes up. His expression on his face shows that he is tired and his actions show that he is tired. Yet he still finds a way to still keep moving. Despite of his inability to speak fluent English he always finds a way to communicate with other people. My father is not dumb, stupid, or incapable of anything,I say this because that is what he sometimes thinks of himself. Whenever he needs to write an email to one of his bosses, he always asks me or one of my sisters to write it for him. He gets mad because he always says, “Tienen que saber cómo hablar, porque o sino las personas nomas se van a tomar ventaja de ustedes”. If he was all those things I wouldn't be able to come home to a home cooked meal or be able to go to the store and get a new pair of jeans because i have had the same pair of jeans for the past 2 years. My father works hard and you can see it. He doesn’t have to say or do anything, you can just see it. Its like when you can’t tell if something is actually there, you can’t see it but you know it’s there. That’s exactly my father. “A que horas viene pa?” I would ask my mom, “No hasta alrato?”, she would say. my father would work extra hours so he can earn more money to maintain his family. I don’t know about you, but when a man works long hours and comes home tired, can barely walk and all he wants is to lay down, just to keep his family happy. is not just because he is hard worker. But because he cares about his family he cares so much that he would rather not be able to walk so his family could have food on the table. Tha``t’s what I call a father. In better words, that is my father. 

At the end of the day that man is my father, he defends his family. He has always taught me to stay strong to never let anyone walk over me, to always stand my ground. He might not say much but I know him well enough when he is hurting. I know when he is proud of me. We have a special way of communicating and that’s ok, it might be different but I like it this way. My dad is strong and knows what he wants in life. Many people might say that he is too old to dream about the things he wants, but I know that someday he will get the gift of going back to his home in Mexico, and not worry whether his family doesn’t have enough to eat. He will be happy, I love him so much I don’t want to think of a day where i won’t be able to say that I love him or be able to run to him and hug him.  My father can be represented as a rock, he might come as a strong, dull, unbreakable person but it’s the way that that rock is made that makes it special and unique. I love my dad and I admire him, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.