Like Father, Like Daughter

I know that a lot of kids out there think their dad is the best, I mean there’s a reason the phrases ‘Number One Dad’ or ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ have become the cornerstones of Father’s Day. I’ll happily admit that I’m no different than anyone else since my dad was always a source of fun and laughter. Somehow he always knew just what you needed to make you giggle, even through tears.

This upcoming Father’s Day will be my first without him, and with the first anniversary of his passing also coming up in a few months, I can’t seem to describe the feeling that leaves me with. While I feel I’ve been able to shift the burden of my grief so it no longer crushes my chest, I still find myself dragging it behind me and to those of you that have had to navigate the dark corridors of grief, my heart goes out to you.

It feels strange listening to other people and their stories of my dad, but it brings me comfort to hear others tell me how much he loved me or how proud he was of me. People often recount how funny he was, or how he could light up a room just by being in it, and it’s that memory of him that a like to look back on most– a man full of life that filled the house with laughter instead of him later in life as terminal illness ate away at him. But I suppose it's always easier to think about the fun times rather than the harder ones that seemed to plague most of our final time together.

As a professional photographer my dad used to joke that it was his job to make people smile, and despite his own very difficult past, he was able to do that. He always tried to go out of his way to show kindness to people or to make sure they felt welcomed and included. There was just something about being around him that made you want to smile– his laid-back and joyful personality was absolutely infectious.

His stories were another thing that people recalled fondly as my dad loved to tell them, especially to anyone that would listen. I’ve heard plenty of those stories multiple times throughout my life– stories of his past, ghost stories from his time in the military and sometimes even stories of discrimination. Growing up as a Hispanic and indigenous man in the Midwest, he was unfortunately targeted more than once by a certain hateful group from the south that have since spread their rabid vitriol across the country. He also shared some stories of his time in grade school, when staff would beat him and his classmates and force them to kneel against a wall for hours on end for speaking in their native language rather than English.

The kind of trauma he faced in life was enough to break anyone, and yet somehow my dad kept fighting and surviving. He’d lost so much up until that point that I think he might have thought life had written nothing but tragedies among the blank pages of the book we call life. It wasn’t until he met my mother that he realized how much more he had in store for him and what exactly it was that he had been fighting for.

Before meeting my mom, my dad had been convinced he never wanted to have any further children after having to suffer the tragic loss of all three children in his previous marriage. It was understandably one of the few things he never discussed much, but he had confided in me once that the more time he spent getting to know my mom, the more he realized that part of him that wanted real love and a family still existed somewhere inside him.

My dad never had a stable home life growing up and without realizing it, I think it made him work that much harder to ensure my sister and I had a better life than he did. He created a beautiful, loving relationship with my mother and together the two of them tried to make sure we had everything we could ever want or need. In turn I knew he would always be there for me, and he was always the one I ran to when I needed help. That is maybe the hardest part of this loss, knowing that he’s no longer there to support me when I need it.

And while he wasn’t always perfect, as all humans aren’t, I admire him for doing everything he could to break the cycle of abuse by loving us with everything he had. It can be hard to break cycles like that, but he was strong enough to take those first steps to break years of generational trauma just by doing things differently. I know first hand how heavy that trauma can be when it's been carried down like that but I hope to continue breaking those curses now that my dad has laid the foundation for me. It’s almost funny, but I guess that’s one way my dad continues to support me, even now.

I also hope that I can channel just an ounce of the love and kindness that he put into the world, both with other people and any future children I may have. He treated everyone he met like they were family, regardless of how different they may have looked or been from us and I think in these troubled times the world could always use a little more love. It certainly won’t heal all the wounds and trauma that exist out there in the world, but perhaps with a little more compassion we can change things, just like my dad did when he began to break the cycle. If I could be just one little ripple on the pond’s surface in this world the way my dad made waves in the lives of those around him, that would be enough for me. Because if I could be like anyone in the world, it would definitely have to be like my dad.