Wisdom Of Our Fathers: Pride!

On December 28th, 2010 I had a conversation with my dad about law school, my future, and life in general (I'm not yet ready to share the "life in general" part).  I told my father then that law school was the toughest thing I had ever done.  I explained the bell curve grading system, how most of your grade depends on one final test, and how I had to put my all into my studies just to get the modest results I managed to receive.

I also told him about the rigors that awaited with the bar exam and the uncertain direction my legal career could take me.  He responded by telling me that he was proud of me, that I should not get too stressed out, nor get down on myself, and he finished with his usual, "God bless you boy." 

My father then relayed to me the various labor intensive jobs he performed to provide for his parents, his siblings, and eventually his wife and children.  My dad discontinued his education after the second grade for one predominate reason: he needed to work to help raise his siblings.  He was too young to perform labor on his own at such a young age, so he assisted his father out in the fields.  Once able, he picked cotton and fruit as a young teenager, sleeping out in the fields sometimes and working his back to a point where he could not straighten it out after day’s end.  But he would wake up the next morning and do it all over again.  He started working in the sulfur mines at age 16, worked in construction, cleaning bathrooms, worked as a pipe welder, truck driver, and lastly as an upholsterer.  

I had heard my father tell of his struggles before, but that evening his stories hit me moreso than usual.  I needed to hear them, and the stories lifted me up.  They drove home to me once again that I would not be in any position to make it to the finish line if it weren't for this man, my father.  He sacrificed so I could be within striking distance of my educational dream.  He worked from sun up til past sundown, seven days a week, so that I could have a better life than the one he had.  I wrote on facebook that same evening that I would dedicate my last semester to my father.

At the time of the conversation, nobody had any idea what was coming right around the corner.  In mid-January, my dad went to his primary care doctor.  By late January, he was diagnosed with cancer.  By the end of January, my dad was on the operating table. 

On January 31^st, my dad has his first surgery.  As only one family member was allowed in the preparation room, I was chosen to go back there with him.  I got to meet the doctors, talk to the nurses, and interpret questions my dad had from Spanish to English.  As the final preparations began, I stepped out of the room and rejoined my family.  A nurse came out shortly thereafter and looked our family over.  As we all zeroed in our attention toward the nurse, she asked:  “Which one of you is going to be a lawyer?”  Everyone paused.  “I am,” I responded, as though all the eyes directing her to me towards me did not give me away.  She said, “Well, your father is very proud of you!” 

My father was/is proud of me!  What every son seeks and some never receive was already in the bag. 

Did I already know this prior to that day?  Yes.  I had many reasons to believe my father was proud of me.  Owners of local bars (where my dad frequented and used to clean house at the pool table) never failed to relay the message that all my dad would do is talk about me while kicking ass at the pool table.  He would share the things I was doing and absolutely and unashamedly gloat about them.  But for him to think of me and show pride in me just before his surgery made the timing on this day as emotionally charged as ever. 

The nurse continued, “Gregorio said: ‘My son graduated from KU in political science, worked for the governor, has been all over the world and is in his last year of law school at UMKC.  He’s smart…Like me!!’”  Then he was wheeled out for surgery.  As he passed by, I could only muster the words that I never said enough and wish I could tell him a million times over: “I love you dad!”