A Toast to Me!

I was 3 years old when my parents bought this house. Some may claim that I was too young, but I swear I remember the day my parents brought my older brother and I to the house the first time.  There was a rainbow outside and when an adult (could have been mom, dad, abuela, abuelo?) took my brother and I by the hand and we crossed the street, I saw the rainbow frame our house.  I remember that day and it was a perfect day.

For the next 6 years my brother and I shared a room.  I’m not sure why, there are plenty of bedrooms for everyone, but we were fairly inseparable, so I guess sharing a room made sense.  When I was 9, I decided that I wanted my own room — this room.  My mom made me promise that if she bought me my own bedroom set, I could not call for her to come to the room in the middle of the night.  Deal.

We cleaned out what was to be my room and my Dad gave it a fresh coat of paint.  My furniture arrived and my bedroom was made up.  That night was the night that I would be sleeping alone — without my brother and without my mom.  When it came time for bed, I went to MY room and shut the door.  My mom came in and told me that since it still smelled like paint, it would be best if I slept with the door open.  OK I did, but the next night, I shut the door again.  I’ve slept with the door closed ever since.

Today I drove back home to hang with my parents for a couple of days.  There is no question as to where I’d sleep as I’ve always kept my room here… afterall, it’s MY room, my parents gave it to me. The house can be theirs, the room is mine.   This room has been with me my entire life.   I always know that it’s here for me when I need it, or when I don’t.  It’s seen me laugh, cry, yell, dance, sleep, stress, veg-out.  It’s where I feel better when I’m not feeling well and where I can relax after any event.  It’s made me feel safe when I’ve been scared and surrounds me with familiarity when I’m lost.  It’s a place where I am welcome, whether it’s for a day, a night, a week or years.   It has been my private sanctuary since I was 9 years old and it is now what it was then –the safest place on earth for me.

Reflections Dad, family, mom

Sept 2007 at my brother's wedding

In 2001, my dad had a mild heart attack.  It happened 3 days after I placed him on a plane back to California from Texas – he and my older brother came out to help me move into my new house that weekend.  I’ll never forget the phone call my brother made to me.  It was about 2:00 am CST.  My dad dropped my mom at the airport the evening before so she could help me get settled into my house.  The phone rings, I answer and the first words my brother says is… “don’t tell mom I’m calling”.  I tell him, “hey, what’s wrong?”  “it’s dad, he kinda had a heart attack, but don’t tell mom because we don’t want her to worry”.  Mid-sentence, of course, my mom was already in my room saying “what happened?”.  I wasn’t even sure that she had heard the phone ring, but she did.  Later she confessed that she couldn’t sleep because she felt that something was wrong.

I wasn’t able to come home that weekend and to this day I wonder what would have happened if things had gone differently.  My dad, thank our Heavenly Father above, is healthy now.  But it’s interesting because after every disagreement I have with my dad, I immediately think of how I could have lost him that night.

Why am I thinking of this now?  I don’t know to be honest.  I think it’s because I’m going home tomorrow to hang with my parents (and report to jury duty the next day) and I want to brainstorm with him a couple of ideas on what I could do to isolate a portion of the balcony for Corky.

The irony of all of this is that my father and I have butted heads my entire life.  My mom claims that we are “like looking at each other in a mirror” or that we are so alike, we’re like “two parts of same magnet trying to reconnect, but instead we repel.”  One may look at this as negative things — however I feel blessed because although not perfect, I love that he has given me his strength, his creativity, his wit, his innovation, his determination and his stubbornness.  He is the only person in the world that I know who can see something through to completion, regardless of the obstacles along the way.  We may not always agree, and yes there will be more arguments, but together we find a way and we get things done.  Writing this now, I can’t bear to think what life would be like without my dad.

I love you Papi!

Reflections Dad, Daughter, family