June 16, 2011

Questions to my daddy…

Me age 5…
“Daddy why do Giraffe’s have spots?”

“I don’t know baby, we should find out”

  • The next week he ordered a National Geographic card set about animals.

Me age 8…
“Daddy, why can’t I do better in my handwriting? I got a D in class for that ”

“You just need to practice. You will get better”

  • That month he ordered a special handwriting practice book from Mexico and he had me do it everyday after homework.

Me age 10…
“Daddy, why am I so dark? Why can’t I be like Barbie?”

“Because you are Mexican and you have Indian blood that runs through your veins”

  • Within the span of a year he should be pictures of my maternal grandmother, took me to the library to learn of the history of Mexican people and South American Incas.
Me age 11…
“Daddy, do babies really come from storks? Do they give them to you at the hospital”

“No, but we can talk about it”

  • We had “the talk” and he had me watch “The miracle of life” on PBS. Which I am sure is the reason why I was so grossed out and swore off sex until I was ready to go through child birth.

Me age 12:
“Why did you have to go Daddy?”


He left me all too soon. I had many more questions. I am sure he had more answers for me. He was that kind of dad. If he didn’t know the answer he found it for me. He gave me the gift of researching my questions, and not giving them to me immediately. He facilitated my learning, even if sometimes there were some things that were embarrassing. For all that you answered Daddy, THANK YOU. Happy Father’s day, I still miss you.
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