my two fathers

Papi & Sam at happy hour

Here are my two fathers, enjoying a ritual happy hour together which entails sitting outside at dusk with a stiff drink in one hand and a Cuban cigar in the other and watching the world quiet down as the sun sinks below the horizon.

These two men have next to nothing in common, aside from my mother (the fiery Colombian woman who ensnared both their hearts for different reasons), their shared role of father to my sister and me, and their daily anticipation of happy hour.

My biological father is Paul, aka Papi or Pito. I inherited from him certain verbal mannerisms, a love of photography and the night sky, the way I walk, and an anxiety about money that tranlates into stinginess. As a child, I dreaded asking him questions because I would either get: A) a bewildering far-fetched answer that was made up on the spot or B) some long-winded explanation which included an unrelated history of something else and only confused me more. He is also something of a McGyver, always able to think of a solution outside the box. He carries with him at all times about a half a pound of keys and tools on his keychain. I think he took the Boy Scout motto "Be Prepared" to heart, because he's pretty much prepared for anything at all times. I remember him pulling a mini can opener out of his pocket once at a school event, when my teacher realized there was no way to open the cans of juice one of the parents had brought. I was proud then of my father's foresight.

My stepfather is Sam. I inherited from him a love of books and good food, my liberal politics, a passion for travel, and a lack of desire to work very hard which translates into an appreciation for loafing. We had many fierce arguments at the dinner table about world events and he frequently prodded me to learn more about the topic at hand before opening my mouth. He made a pittance working for the city government but he made sure that his family never felt the pinch. I marvel now that we went so many places and experienced so many things on his shoestring budget. He would never skimp on good food and one of the pleasures of my childhood was being treated to a fine meal at the restaurant of my choice, whether to celebrate my birthday or a good report card.

There is so much more I can say about these two men who shaped who I am by their example. I suppose the only thing more I can say today is this: Happy Father's Day, Papi and Sam. I love you both.

happiness is. . .

. . .saying I do.

March 3, 2007

[click here for more wedding pictures]

sisters

Today I found this photo of me and my sister in my dad's digital family album. It captures the essence of the word sisters for me.

It is 1981 and we are living in Boulder, Colorado, in the biggest and coldest house we've ever lived in. It has three floors and a cavernous basement. Our parents don't have enough furniture to fill it and can barely afford to heat it.

My sister is wading deeper into the choppy waters of adolescence. She lines her eyes with thick, black eyeliner and shuts herself in her room to daydream and listen to records. I am in the second grade. In spite of our age difference, we still play Barbies and Office. Though we argue and torment each other as siblings do, we are close. We get up early Saturday mornings to watch cartoons, tucked beneath my grandmother's afghan. We are rumpled from sleep. My sister twists her body sideways to make room for me on the couch.

It amazes me how close we are, in spite of the fact that we we are five years apart and have spent most of our lives living in different states. Still, we grew up together from scratch. We've witnessed each other's journeys. In spite of time and distance, this is how it always is between us.

my sister makes a mess

[Written by my sister, Evelyn, after I asked her about how to change things on my blog.]

I called. She fussed. She said, "Hmmm. No bother really...it would be interesting to figure out." Thus, we wait and see in the morning.

passport i

My mother is 21 years old. This is her first passport picture. She is preparing to leave her home, her mother, her family, her language, her culture, her country and basically, life as she knows it to work as a nanny for an unknown Colombian couple living in Washington, D.C. She is going to America, where she can choose her own life. The possibilities thrill her and terrify her. She is going to America in spite of her mother's pleas and her brother's threats. No one can stop her.

She leaves on August 12, 1967.

What she doesn't know is, she will live with a couple who take advantage of her and mistreat her. She will not be prepared for the snow and cold. She will meet a Puerto Rican girl whose family rescues her and takes her in as one of their own. She will meet my father on a blind double date and marry him in San Antonio. They will not understand each other very well. They will drive across the desert to San Diego, where she will meet her new American family. They will begin their life together in an apartment complex in dusty Lancaster, California.

This will be the first year of her life in America.

my brother-in-law is a rockstar

I was fifteen when he and my sister were first dating in college. They knew each other back in high school. He claims he was in love with her then. They were voted "Most Artistic" by their senior class. In college, she started taking the train to New York City on certain weekends to explore the city with him. They played and laughed and discovered art together. He made pieces of art for her and hid secret messages in them. Her toes wiggled when she was with him.

When I lived in Italy, he sent me funny letters and drawings and once, a tape of his band's songs. His letters revealed how crazy in love he was with my sister. They broke up towards the end of college. She moved away to Arizona and he to Florida. They lived their separate lives for nearly 8 years. One day he wrote her a letter and when she read it, she called him. They were married within a year.

He is a talented artist, the lead singer in a metal band, and a web designer among other things. He is über playful and has a loud, raucous laugh which he frequently bursts into, often with a mouthful of food. He is generous, funny, considerate, and a badass brother-in-law, as well as husband, son, and father. And today is his 37th birthday. Happy birthday, G!

dear diary, 1984