An ode to my dad on his birthday

The older I get, the more I refuse to acknowledge that my parents are anything older than 45.

Am I alone in that?

Seeing my mom and dad start to gray out in their heads, have the title of grandparents, and a slew of sons and daughters-in-laws, life keeps sweeping by and with it, our family celebrating my dad’s 63rd birthday this week.

My dad, Edgar, is a complicated man.

He was my first dance partner (his salsa skills are out of this world), he’s a terrible teacher (my driving lessons always ended in tears), he’s a clean freak to a fault (sometimes choosing a life of structure rather than a bit of spontaneity and chaos) and his work ethic is the thing of legends (aside from my mom’s) which may be the thing that one day takes him out.

I think we sometimes wait until the bad stuff happens (cancer, funerals, etc.) to truly share with someone what they mean to us. I’d like to live a life where the people I love know just how much I do while they’re alive.

So on my dad’s birthday, I’d love to share an ode to the first man I ever loved. Thanks for allowing me to do that.

Edgar, or, “Enrique” as Dan calls you.

You missed a lot of our lives growing up.

For your immigrant family of seven (five of us kids, you, and mom) you sacrificed it all to put food on the table.

You missed my clarinet recitals, award ceremonies, and homework times because you were working multiple jobs to make ends meet or overnight shifts because that’s what was available.

I asked you last year on your 62nd birthday what you would do differently if you could go back. You said you’d spend more time with us.

Isn’t it funny how time does that? How it makes us reconsider the past and what we should or could have done differently?

But I don’t hold it against you, the sacrifices you made, I mean.

When I look at the life I have, the things I’ve achieved, and what I want out of my future, I always look to the sacrifice you made as worthy and one that got us all to where we are today.

Did you know that we have a bit of you in all of us?

I have your pride.

Nico and Dan have your fire.

Sam has your sense of humor.

Caro has your weather anxiety.

You’re a complex man, and, in turn, have some complex children.

We’re nothing alike, but with you as our dad we’re a combination of workhorses and clean freaks, slightly lazier than you and guilty of leaving our beds unmade now that we don’t live under your roof.

We all worry that your work ethic will eventually do you in, but you won’t listen to us, believing that you still have to work as hard as you did during our early years in America.

But you don’t.

Your American Dream has been achieved and now you can rest a bit more, travel like you deserve, and enjoy the fruit of your labor. My hope is you’ll learn to do that, though it may be a lost cause if it’s me against that brain of yours.

I can’t wait until I have kids so you can teach them Spanish and introduce them to the world of Joe Arroyo’s music and, in tandem, your dance moves.

Thanks for being my first love and dance partner. I feel so lucky to be your daughter, your first child, and possibly (though we can continue to keep it a secret) your favorite.

Happy birthday, Papi. Te quiero mucho.

Here’s us on one of my favorite days with proof of his mad dancing skills. Rumor has it this was the father-daughter dance at my wedding, but it was really a moment for him and that’s okay.

Until next week,

Edgar’s daughter.