When I was born, my dad was 44 years old. I am the youngest of his six children. (Still today and forever, I am the baby of the family, but that's not important right now.)
On February 13th, 1961, he celebrated the first of many birthdays in the U.S. He was 50 years old.
My dad was an extremely quiet person. He was not, as I recall, particularly brave. Except for having the common, everyday-type courage that it takes to start your life over again in a new country, speaking a new language and providing for a wife and six children.
That always amazes me. And yet, he managed to, not just survive in this new land, but to thrive.
In 1962, he bought a house in Southwest Miami. 25th Terrace.
We were excited to be a part of the new adventure of moving into a new house and we explored every bedroom, every closet, every cabinet of the house, and every inch of the fabulously huge backyard.
This was back in the day when you needed a huge TV antenna to get reception for one of the 3 major channels. My dad, the engineer, got a brand new antenna that needed to be installed. This required climbing up on the roof.
He must have borrowed the ladder from a neighbor. "Come up here with me. You can see Cuba from up here."
He might just as well have said, "We're going on a magic treasure hunt."
My sister, Alina, and I eagerly climbed up onto the roof with him.
No, of course, we couldn't see Cuba. He patiently explained that obviously, the avocado tree behind us was blocking our view.
My brother snapped the polaroid and captured this moment forever.
And such was the power of my dad's ability to tell stories, that I never questioned that we could probably see Cuba from the roof of our little home in Southwest Miami (La Saguesera), but for that silly, overgrown avocado tree.
My dad would have been 100 years old today. The older I get, the more I miss him.
Felicidades, viejo. Te quiero.
I would have loved to know him, but I feel I know him by knowing you! I love the magic we make for our children, don’t you. I hope my kids and grand kids remember me so fondly. Iove you MORE!
Marta, you have a gift of telling a story like we are right there with you. I imagine you take after your viejo. What a special thing to be able to share an ordinary moment from your childhood memory and make it so special.xoxo
I never saw this pic before! Also the 1st time I heard the roof story – what a great yarn.God bless papi!
He obviously passed the story telling gift to you!
Thanks!I KNOW your kids and grandkids already think highly of you. Love you MORE.
Mica,You made me cry with your kind words. Gracias.
keb,I knew I had this picture somewhere and was waiting to tell the story when I found it. I just happened to find it yesterday. Serendipity?
Thanks, Mike!I’d love to think so.
I miss my Dad too Marta, I miss my grandma’s, grandfather (I only met one) I miss them all. Growing up in Minnesota away from my big Cuban family really makes me miss them every single day!
I think that’s how it’s meant to be: we take them for granted when they are here and miss them terribly when they’re not. It’s the circle of life, isn’t it?Besos!
Hello Marta, I am reading your blog as for school I am doing a report on Cuban Americans. This piece brought me to tears. I read countless blogs such as your for my own enjoyment yet i have never bothered commenting. Thank you for showing me a little of the feelings of your new “adventure”.. God Bless, Jonathan
Hi Jonathan,Thanks for commenting. I’m glad you enjoyed this particular post.
Besos,
Marta
Marta, I read (and reposted on FB) this story of your dad, because I enjoyed it so!. My own parents, Orlando and Nenita Falagan, spoke of him often and with great admiration. I am inspired by what you’ve done with this blog, sharing your talents and weaving entertaining stories for us to read. I can relate to just about every one of them. Thank you for keeping the memories alive and making us laugh, cry, and think!
Hi Luly!You are my sister-from-another-mother!
Thank you for your kind words. I remember your dad with great affection. I particularly remember that he used to visit my Papi and sit and talk with him for hours when he was housebound.
What a gift.
Besos,
Marta