Dad's gifts

Dad was born at the beginning of the 20th century, on 15 January 1909. The country was experiencing a period of calm in which civil wars were being left behind. After the discovery of the immense oil deposits in the country, the long-term concession to foreign companies for exploitation began. With the establishment of the oil companies, migration from the fields to the cities began.

In this scenario, Dad left a hamlet nestled between mountains and river banks and came to the nearest city. Job opportunities were plentiful. Dad started working when he was ten years old, was illiterate and understood the problem. In his hamlet, there was no school and in the countryside the need for school was not felt. He was a child labourer and had to support himself, he had no time to go to school.

Dad learned to read on his own. He made his first contact with letters when he picked up an Equestrian Gazette from a playground. The Gaceta Hípica was a weekly magazine that covered the organisation of the six horse races at the only racecourse in the country and with which the forms were drawn up to qualify for prizes if five or six winners were matched on the form.

By looking at the gazette, seeing the order awarded to the horses, comparing the names repeated by the radio announcers as the race took place and establishing their numbering in the order of the gazette, Dad learned to read. Of course, he became a fan of horse racing, won on many occasions, invested in the trade and that made him a very attractive young man.

My mother was ten years younger than my father. While mum was growing up dad had multiple affairs. In some of them there were offspring. When my parents met dad's fame preceded him. He had become the head of the family group of siblings and their wives and children, who kept coming in from the countryside. He had a fierce character that everyone in the family feared.

Dad was a determined, six-foot-tall man who acted cold-bloodedly, as he saw fit. Mum was five foot four, a romantic, free-thinking woman, educated by reading the novels of the time.

They were two very different people, but Mum made Dad into a loving husband and an indescribable dad.

When I was born my father made a statement:

"I will carry her in my arms until she is 15 years old". He said.
Mum remembered that phrase on many occasions. Dad didn't carry me until I was fifteen, but he looked after me, my needs, my desires, my tastes, for as long as he lived.

If I said, "I'm thirsty," Dad would appear to me with a glass of water. One day, for example, I remarked that I had seen a small cake topped with a strawberry in a bakery. After lunch he went out and came back with a tray with nine little cakes filled with custard and topped with a strawberry. We were seven siblings, mum and dad. I am the third of the siblings and the first female.

My dad never ceased to amaze me. I received so many loving details from him that it would be difficult to remember them. Once he gave me a small live owl.

"If you saw the look of surprise on your face!" he said to me, laughing his sardonic laugh.

"How am I going to look after it?" I asked, alarmed at the responsibility of caring for such a mysterious animal.

You'll see, you'll see," he replied. I had no choice but to accept the pet. The owl lived with me for three years. One day I went to feed him and he was gone. His name was Sabio.

Once, when I had built my own home and had two children, I fell ill. I had a high fever and rashes all over my body. I had contracted rubella. Dad came, alone, to visit me. I was sleeping and he waited until I woke up.

My husband opened the door to the room and showed him in. I was living at that time in the old part of the city in a beautiful house with an inner garden. It was six o'clock in the evening.

After greetings he handed me a glass jar with small holes in the lid. Inside were pieces of banana leaves. I stared at the jar full of dried leaves.

I tried to open the leaky lid of the jar, dad stopped me.

"Have a little patience, just look at the jar." I looked at the jar carefully. A while passed.

I understood that there was something hidden inside the jar that needed to be shown. My father's face seemed unperturbed but I noticed a certain hesitation in the way he himself looked at the jar.

Another few minutes passed, the sun had gone down, and the room fell into a pleasant gloom. It was then that a faint flash of light illuminated the jar. With the flash came Dad's satisfied smile.

"A firefly!" I said, marvelling.

My father had achieved his purpose. In that purpose I understood the delicacy of his feelings for me.

I looked at him, and he at me, every time the firefly glowed.

I remember the feeling of awe and gratitude for that gift. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.