“Carla, your TV’s too loud! What are you deaf?” professes my 48 year old dad while I am trying to listen and integrate into my life the wise words of Angelina Jolie. He comes to my room and shuts the door (in a very mild manner) to show just how loud my TV is.
I tone down the volume and open my door (or else, I will die from the heat that this country has been penalized with). Everyone’s happy.
Ten minutes later a cry is heard, “DADDDDYYYY!! I can’t hear Angelina Jolie talk about SHILOH!!!!” and it’s my turn to run to their room and try to shut the door.
This continues on until my mom jolts awake and asks the both of us to keep quiet- she was the main reason for the volume fight.
Dad and I make up after five minutes. We end up jolting down the famous Brazo De Mercedes (I swear to you it’s HEAVENLY. Email me if you want to know the details) and satisfy our sweet tooth but end up fighting again after five minutes because we grew tired of teasing each other because our tummy has grown to enormous proportions. It’s like having a baby Brazo de Mercedes inside of us.
Our rib cages are protruding but our tummies? Hell no. After eating anything carbo loaded and sweet, it grows like a bowling ball.
Hilarious? I don’t think so.
Then, we talk about latest movies, the box office, Obama vs. Clinton, latest gadgets and how we can lose that darn tummy.
He is also the only person who can call me “Bachi” on account of my past heavy days (not just the tummy darling).
To my dad, I’d always be the six year old girl who wouldn’t get invited to join games like Doctor Quack Quack and Coconut-nut game (remember the song?) because I was too heavy. I was also made “it” because I could never run fast enough to save my life.
My dad has witnessed every single event that has happened in my life and I am blessed to have that stability.
Strangely enough, to me, he would always remain that 35 year old basketball player, an image of a really old picture of his pops into my mind.
My dad would also be “mighty man”, “superman”, “batman” and “Gordon Bombay” to me. He’d always be my hero and the guy that I would benchmark all the other guys who come into my life to.
He’d be the perfect example and a voice that I would always be hearing when it comes to making choices in life.
Another odd thing is the fact that my dad and I are more alike in more ways than I could ever admit.
We both loving reading the newspaper all morning long (which is quite impossible)
We both love SWEETS
We both have that ahem “dry” sense of humor
We’d always be forgiving and less judgmental than we should be
We can spend 24/7 watching TV
We get absorbed in our problems, keep it to ourselves and would not even give a hint as to what is going on.
We smile ALL THE TIME and the littlest jokes make us laugh
We are both gifted with really bad dancing skills
We order the same thing in the same restaurant
Our noses would forever be buried in a book
We love talking about gadgets that my mom would NEVER let us buy.
That’s how crazy the realization is. Most girls would like to admit that they’re more like their moms and that their dads just don’t get it.
Well, I’d have to say 50-50. There are some things that my dad would get, and some things that my mom would.
But that’s a good thing because I get to look at both sides of the story.
But that’s another blog post all together.
In tribute to Father’s Day, I would just like to say how wonderful my life is because he’s here with me. How much I’ve grown stronger because he told me that’s the only way to get through life and how he told me to enjoy the moment and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow and not waste a single moment over analyzing things.
And though I may never admit this to him, he has showed me what to look for in a man.
My dad may be a man of few words, but he doesn’t need a thousand because in his actions alone, he has taught me more than I should know.
I LOVE YOU DADDY! YOU ARE THE BEST!
Now, let me watch Tyra.
