tres cochinitos est�n en la cama
06.21.04 // 8:02 p.m.

When the doctors at Monterey Park Hospital finally let me go home with my parents in early September 1980*, my Dad carried me out in a pink dress with "Daddy's Girl" embroidered across it.

I still have that dress folded up in a shoe box somewhere with other mementos. Obviously, it no longer fits me. I don't have any other articles of clothing embroidered with the same label, but it doesn't matter. Nearly 24 years later, I'm still Daddy's Girl (but there are 2 of us now, we can share the title).

I'm not as dependant on him as I once was. I've learned hundreds of things from him. He taught me to drive, throw a baseball (I grew up at the height of Fernandomania), forgive, have faith, and not give up even if there was only a 3% chance you'd make it. He brought me to UCLA the first time I visited the campus, and listened on the phone when I called him at work to tell him that UC Berkeley had admitted me (we also agreed that admissions officers at UC San Diego were on crack).

In almost 24 years he's apologized, praised my accomplishments, and popped my bloated ego when I've needed it. He's shown me what unconditional love means and what it means to follow your dreams... even if you're well into your 40s and it means a new and scary career path.

I can go on and on about why my father is amazing, but it all comes down to a handful of things:

He is human. He makes me mistakes, he has weaknesses, and he admits them. He always strives for something better.

His faith. His life hasn't been easy, but through the hardest parts, he let go and put it in God's hands.

His music. My father still doesn't read music, but he's been playing guitar for over 35 years. You just have to hear him sing "Camino de Guanjuato." It gives me chills. He is my first musical influence.

He wants to help people. I've written the same thing about my mother. He has the attitude that his family has been incredibly blessed, so he needs to do his part to help others the way he was helped.

He shows feeling. I'm thankful that I have a father who can admit to his children that he loves them or that he's proud of them. It's rare in my community.

*This is a whole other story...

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