I have wonderful memories of the Daddy. Playing out in the tomato fields while he irrigated them. . . being taken to my first day of school. . .riding in the back of his pick-up. . .seeing him in the back of the room at all my important presentations. . .watching TV with him. . .holding poles and boards as he hammered them in place. . .being taught how to drive a stick shift. . .traveling to the Philippines with him. . .going mushroom hunting in the hills. . . frying biscuit doughnuts for him for an evening snack. . .noticing a candy bar inch up on my pillow when I was sick. . . walking to the liquor store in San Francisco for a celebratory pint of whisky. . .overhearing him talk to his goats about the Mama. . . .
I remember the advise he gave me, some of which still cracks me up today, such as "Don't go fucking around (on the day of the prom)." "Don't go to any other church while I'm alive." "Don't be a hippie." "Don't trust anyone. Not even Filipinos." "Be nice (when he knew I was going to turn down a chump who was courting his and Mama's hands for a chance at me)." Some I heeded. Some I did not.
The first white butterfly I see on any day, I think of the Daddy saying hello to me.
I miss seeing him in person.
|This was taken at Daddy's 70th birthday party.|
Sitting beside us is my Ninong (Godfather) Danny.