So today, my father turns 75. I am his firstborn, and frankly, his favorite (although my brother would probably argue with that).

I know a lot of women have dysfunctional dad issues – I am not one of them. My father is one of the most amazing human beings I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. If he wasn’t my dad, and I met him somewhere, I’d probably be his friend. He can talk my ear off, but frankly it’s good stuff. As I’ve gotten older, it’s more and more fun to listen to my father.

And he’s funny too. His ascerbic wit. His petulantly observant way of digesting the world. He used to be (or I used to perceive him as) a judgmental, closed minded, inflexible, militant, irascible man…. And he probably can still go there. But as I’ve gottne older, I’ve also seen the six year old boy that lost his father (a grandfather I never met), and then lost his mother before he hit puberty, and then his oldest sister and oldest brother….I remember his dogged determination at pursuing a degree while raising a young family (all three of his children were under 10 at the time), and his amazing faith at moving us from the Dominican Republic to this country with NO EVIDENCE that it would work or it would give us the dreams he was so hungrily pursuing for his children. I remember him a degreed, well connected, well heeled professional coming to America to start working second shift at some factory, while his children grew up. We used to say hi and bye as we got home from school around 2: 45 pm and he used to be getting ready to go to work.

I remember once throwing it in his face when he tried to correct me on something: What do you know, you’re hardly ever here, you have no right to say what’s what in this house! I was petulant too, and I knew then that whatever I had to say, by virtue of being his firstborn, would sting more than he would ever let on.

I have always wanted to please my father. Being a tomboy growing up was my way of “making up” for the fact that his firstborn was a girl, and not a boy, as he had so desired. That’s probably why I named my company after his last name, since I couldn’t “carry on the name” in the traditional sense. That’s probably also why when I did get married, I never changed my last name (ominous, I know). When I was a little girl… my dad took me everywhere with him. He taught me to play pool, started to teach me to drive… he played dress up with me (When I was a little girl, it was our secret that I preferred him doing my hair over my mother)… I was his little doll…

So today, I have a daughter of my own, who is absolutely in love with her own dad. And while her father and I are not together anymore, the absolute adoration that my daughter has for her dad reminds me of the adoration I still have for mine.

Recently, at my request, my parents both began a Leadership Development Program that has challenged their beliefs and assumptions about what they’re capable of, who they are as human beings, and what they both have to offer the world… still.. even now that they’re in their “golden years.” As I’ve said, it’s not over til it’s over. I can’t wait to see what my father creates in his life over the next 25 years.

So I sit here reflecting about this man, and I have this to say: In all my father’s soliloquies, he also gives selflessly of his wisdom. He still makes me laugh. He worries about me. He prays for me. He calls me just to tell me he misses me. He still turns my heart into putty when he looks at me like I’m the apple of his eye… And whoever I end up marrying/spending the rest of my life with, has a tough act to follow. If my life partner has HALF the honor, loyalty, devotion, humor and honesty that my father has, I’d be a highly blessed and favored woman.

Happy Birthday, Papi.

Love,

Tu Morena