My father revealed to me something that I will reveal to you, faithful reader. When I was maybe a year old, I witnessed an argument betwixt these lovely caretakers I call parents. Over what, is not important. What matters is that when my Dad saw that I was in the same room, he picked me up and walked outside, and therefore, out of the argument. Little did he know, you don’t reckon with Alba Agudelo. Especially if she desires that last laugh. So she follows us outside to continue the dispute (as one does) and apparently at the climax of their row, I, in all my one-year old wisdom, decided to laugh. And I cackled hard. He didn’t proceed to tell me more than that he found it strange that I did so, but man I am glad that I know that about myself now. The fact that I was able to look at something so definitely depressing as parents in problems as a yukkity-yuk fest is enlightening to me. In more recent times, I hold back my laughter in favor of silence, but that’s mostly out of respect that even though my Mom and Dad don’t get all my jokes, I still am paying attention to every little subtext that comes my way. I promise you I didn’t say it like that because I gave Bon Jovi’s 2003 hit song a listen for once. I say that because I noticed that though my Dad loves me, he certainly can’t stand to listen to some of my music, let alone tell me that he can’t stand it. (Why do you think the air conditioning was on so high?) It’s simple moves like these that allow me to rest my mind in comfort. Though I will never understand him, I acknowledge that reality more easily than I would’ve at a younger age. It’s never easy to be patient with my padre, but I say that out of a place of admiration. He is a clear example of qualities both enjoyable and despicable, therefore providing me indirectly a clear idea of the type of man I know I’ll grow up being, in spite of retaining certain shortcomings. (I cannot pronounce “equilibrium” to save my life.) One quality I especially enjoy about my dad Roberto is the fact that he is effortlessly honest while still caring a bunch… About himself. This is a difficult concept to explain, but humor me… My Dad has instilled in me over the years a sense of realisation that no one has mattered and can matter more than me. It’s like those warnings on the plane, if all hell goes loose and those breath-bags come dropping from Heaven above; you absolutely have to apply your own breath mask to your face before even thinking about the child next to you. Because if you care enough about that kid, you’ll care that you’re performing at 100% responsiveness in order to best maintain calm in the younger and or confused, in my case, I guess. He often sees me as a doe-eyed boy, but I’m glad I can still see him as a friend. Because as a father, he’s frustrating. As a friend, he’s very compassionate. I can find forgiveness and tolerance in him more easily by considering that while he is a large presence in my life, he’s there as a guide. Not a safety net. This takes a toll on me partially because I tend to give off this vibe that I have to depend on people like they are my life-force or something. Its such a strange thing to even think that I can be more than who I am right now. I just got to keep telling myself that really people like Pop are as temporary as the breeze through your hair, considering I’ll go bald someday. And that’s an okay thing. What could I tell you about my Dad that makes me proud to be his son? I guess, in a bittersweet way, that both of us are never really satisfied with any simple way things are. There’s always room for growth, improvement even, and one can’t go about living their life like there’s nothing on the other side of that hill, that most people would be satisfied with crossing over to the top and then just resting for the rest of eternity. That’s not him. And that’s definitely not me. I can affirm that I will push for new heights. Ones, that even he didn’t anticipate when I was cracking up at only a year or so old.