I came to the conclusion, that I had no idea the type of life my father had before I came into this world. It is heartbreaking to find out that even though I spent my whole life with this man, I barely scratched the surface of who he actually is and did not even try to understand him past his image as a father. I forgot, for a second, that he is more than a father, but a man with his own personal life. But then again, who wants to spend three days trying to get to know their father on a deeper level? I’ve heard stories of his past before, but I hardly remembered any details about them.

My father is constantly on his feet or on his back when working underneath a car. I can’t recall a time were I’ve seen him sit down and read other than him reading car magazines on the toilet. I assume that his philosophy is that there isn’t enough time to sit and reflect on life, although he never really fully agreed to this philosophy. But all my life, and even in the stories that I heard, there has never been a time when my dad wasn’t on the move.

From as far as he can remember, he always had a job. He started as a paperboy, a typical start up job delivering paper in his neighborhood. He saved up enough money to buy his first dirt bike, a Puch 50cc, and though I’m not sure if he was aware of this at the time, but that dirt bike was a beginning of a real passion that he passed on to me. From the paperboy job he continued his life of a workingman. During his He became chef at an old folks home, washing dishes and making lunches, which I believe spawned our love for the most basic yet delicious snack that ever came to existence, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. From there, he then worked at a steakhouse, a reasonable transition from one kitchen to another. I figured that he learned how to cook from these two jobs as well as from his parents. After the steakhouse he searched for work outside of the culinary and into work regarding his real passion: cars.

My dad has always shared the information that she has learned throughout his life. An important teacher in his life was his stepfather, Art. He was one of the key reasons why my dad does the things that he does today, and the reason why I have a certain skillset. Art, had taught my dad about cars even though I’m unaware if this is by force or just mere interest. He taught him the in and outs of cars, how to put them together, how to take them apart, how to find the problems- the important things. His life turned in a whole new direction with these new skills; some parts are good and some parts are bad. The good: he started a new job as a technician at a small car shop called Sounds Good. The bad: he stole radios, motors, wheels, and more out of other people’s car either because he wanted it, or just wanted to see if he could.  He believed that these skills were viable and, like father like son, he passed the both the skill of working on cars as well as breaking cars onto me. He mostly did this to make sure I had a full understanding of the inner and outers works on cars, but there might also be a different reason to this.

My father’s third job, which I believe is the most pivotal one, was working for a company called Macco, a shop for auto repair and painting. The reason why I said this is the most pivotal job is because he met Tio Jose. He described their first encounter saying, “ He was a crazy Puerto Rican guy with a custom blazer jacket trying to kill a guy who tried to repossess his new truck that only had one payment on it.” He introduced my father to the world of motorcycles, although he was already passionate about them because of his first dirt bike. Jose also introduced him installation of car alarm and audio systems, a skill that my dad still uses daily. I’m not sure my dad is aware of it or not, but Jose had a huge impact on his life.

When I asked my father what was the most important decision in his life, he said he had to choose between two futures: work or school. But since my father is a doer and not a thinker, he decided to choose both. It’s weird to think about his, but that is just how my father works. I am fortunate in his decision, because during high school he met not only the best teacher, but also the most important woman in both of our life, my mother. It is because of my mother that my father learned to love, learned from his mistakes, and realized that he doesn’t have to be lonely anymore.

Originally I was only going to write the good parts of my father’s life and leave out the hard parts, not because I wanted this essay to sound pretty and nice but because it was actually hard for me to look over my notes of the interview and see some of the things that my dad has been through. However, I realized that I cannot leave these parts out because they explain why my dad acts the way he does.

Around the age of twelve my dad went to therapy for the first time. A preteen dealing with divorcing parents couldn’t possibly be stable emotionally. There was a lot rage towards his parents, even though he still loved them both.  Hearing this story, I came to the conclusion about why my dad and I both are so temperamental. We place more emphasis on small things, making them larger than it needs to be. But the therapy isn’t the part that made me realize this. The comment that my mom said afterwards is what really intrigued me. “Your dad has abandonment issues… He felt that his mom cared more about the guys she was dating more than your father”. My dad simply nodded in agreement. At this point my dad was staring into oblivion, thinking back at all those times when he felt alone.

So my father didn’t specify exactly what happened the first time he got arrested —and I’m not sure if there are any other times afterwards—but he did give me a location.  A random store named Bradley’s, no longer in business. He did not tell me if he stole something from inside the store, outside the store, or even if he even if he stole anything at all. He laughed about it. Just repeated the name in a nonchalant way, as if he was thinking about committing the crime again, although we all know that he won’t. What concerned me was that he did not do what a normal parent would do and exclaim, “Don’t steal” or “Don’t follow my example”. He simply looked me in the eyes and said “That was a funny story” as if I would agree with him although I had no idea as to what he was referring to.

At the very end of the interview, right before he was about to leave so he could get ready for work, he rose from his chair, grabbing another cup of water, still with a quizzical expression on his face when he blurted out with a smirk, “Oh yeah, that was when I lost my brother”. It is moments like these that forced me to believe that I had no knowledge of who my dad is. Not only was I unaware that my father had a brother, but I wanted to know what happened. He muttered under his breath, “There was a lot of stabbing.” That was the end of that conversation.

I feel like my father has been through hell and back, but he doesn’t express his frustration. He laughs off the hard parts, and over exaggerates the little things.  I guess I really am my father’s son. I don’t try to be like him, but life just happens like that. You never know whose personality you inherit from your parents. The weird part is that I feel like I was born with his pain, but I feel like I was born with his passions too. It almost feels like I have to live the life that he never had, or the life that he always wanted. I have to pursue his dreams. Although this may seem kind of sad, I would gladly do this because I love my father and will carry on his legacy.