I love that I have your eyes.
I love that I have your curly hair.
I love that I have your hands.
Grandma’s hands.
My son’s hands.
Hands that labor.
With blunt fingernails, unique characteristics, and a fondness for the guitar.

It feels good when we laugh at the same things –
Our sense of humor mirroring each other’s.

You teach, naturally.
Always teaching.
Conversations that get deep inevitably take on the form of instructor speaking to scholar, and I never tire of them.
Even though…
Even though my pride gets pinched.

I envy your mathematical capabilities. Straight As in every class you ever took. I remember leafing through your college notebooks – puzzling over strange symbols, letters, numbers, written in your amazing awesome script – so masculine…
Can handwriting be handsome?
Yours is.

The contents of the notebooks confused me. I’d put them back on the shelf, proud of the college professor’s comments, resigned to the fact that I’d never see comments like that in any of my math notebooks, and I’d wander off to write, weaving syrupy sweet tapestries of fantasy out of letters.
Letters »»only««
– no numbers allowed.

You are.

I am thankful, that when I need you, you are there.

“There” is the most important.

This day, is a day to honor fathers everywhere.
I do.

But not just today, and not just them-

Today I honor you.

When I am sitting quietly in my home, driving in my car, laughing with my daughter, my sons…
When I am working very hard, singing, dancing, cooking…
I honor you that way, Papi.
What you pour in to me, I pour into others around me.

You are a river, and your children are your tributaries – carrying life-nourishing qualities far from their original source – extending your reach – a part of you – reflecting you.

We live because of you.
You live in us.
You live »through« us.

It is as it should be.

Happy Father’s Day, Medardo C. Perez.

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