My Father

I remember the rubies. I remember the 18 carat Gold jewelry that he used to give me in Argentina for my birthday. That and his kindness when I had a problem are some of my favorite parts of my memories of him. He was not a perfect man, but he was very strong, very tough. My father was a doer, someone who could get things done. When we came together to America, he had to unlearn many things. He was no longer the boss; now he was an employee, an older employee. I don’t think he minded it very much. Being in the United States had been his dream all along. He had time to listen. He cared.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: