I'm sure my daddy was not perfect and that he had his flaws but the memories I have of him in my head makes it really hard to see him as a bad guy. I remember him being loving, caring, and full of life. His eyes. His nose. His smile. His tall and slim figure. His semi bold head. But mainly his eyes. I remember nothing but good things in his eyes. If only I can look into his eyes one more time. 

But I do. Almost daily. You see, I have his eyes. Almond shape, dark brown, kinda deep in between the nose. That's my favorite feature, is the best gift he could have ever given me, to see him within me every time I look in a mirror. The resemblance is almost scary yet breathtaking at the same time because deep down I feel and believe that he's still with me. Call me crazy but that's how I keep sane. Sometimes I sit in my car staring at myself in the mirror having a one way conversation with my dad. Ok so there's nothing sane about that but you know what I mean, right? :) 

How does one even become a daddy's or mama's girl? Is it a mental thing? Where you have more memories of one parent making you feel like you love that parent more than the other but you will never admit to it? Or is it because you feel more loved from one parent over the other? 

I honestly don't know how that happens but in my case I can relate to both scenarios. My mom doesn't show love easily, she's not affectionate at all from what I remember and even now but my dad, my dad was all about hugs and kisses, he would get excited simply by walking thru the door after work. Geezz, he wouldn't even wait to get near the door. He would whistle, a distinct whistle that he had that sounded a bit like "fuiufui" hahahaha (go ahead and laugh), from around the corner and a block up the street to announce his nearing to the house and with my mom's permission we would run out the door and race to him. I remember many times we would all run to him (I don't know how my sister made it to him being that she was under one. I assume my mother would go with us to greet him) and he would put my brother on his back, hold my sister on his side, and I would hang from one leg and he would have to make it home with us in that position hahaha. 

I don't recall my dad ever being mad or angry with us. He was always happy. And anyone who ever knew him have only ever said good things about him. They even call him a hero, my daddy was a Hero! He saved a girl from drowning during a hurricane in DR months before he died. Again, I'm sure he had his flaws but I don't have any memories of them and I want to keep it that way. I don't want to know anything that will taint the image I have of him, especially because he's not around to defend himself. 

More things I remember about my daddy is that he was a welder. His dad had his own welding business in DR and his sons worked with him. Some days my dad would pick me up from school and we would walk to his place of work. There he would entrust me to his brother's girlfriend or the wife of the owner of the colmado and I would hang around snacking on food till it was time to go home. 

He was well known and well liked. People would always come out to meet "la hija de Andrés/Andrés's daughter". Even today at my age when I'm being introduced to a friend of the family I get  referred to as "la hija de Andrés". I don't know what it was about my dad but when people talk about him they make him sound like a great man. 

His life on earth was cut short. He was only 38 years old when he passed away but he must have redeemed himself pretty well after his time in prison and I will not hold my tongue on saying that I am proud to be call his daughter. I am proud to have had him as my father. And I am proud to carry his last name. 

Disclaimer: This is only from the eyes of a preschooler. 

At one point in time only my mother and her younger sister remained in the Dominican Republic. All their other siblings and mother had migrated to the States and they were in the process of getting them two there too. But as that was happening the sisters had to survive on their own. 

My aunt ended up moving with her boyfriend at that time and my mom was left homeless with my brother and I. She was in her early 20s with no husband and to make matters worse the love of her life was in jail. You might wonder where was his family that she had no where to go but apparently they were at war with her. It must have been a pretty nasty war that they wouldn't even take the kids, their own niece, nephew, grandchildren, into their home but it's all good. For sometime as I was growing up and heard the stories I held grudges against them all. All of them. I couldn't understand how they would allow my mother to struggle the way she did with us. But with time I was able to forgive and move on. After all we all make mistakes. 

I'm sure that there were many instances of struggles for my mom but there is one in particular that I can't get rid of. The image of a young mother holding two young kids while sitting on a bench in front of a hospital across from a church. Yes, this is a true story and yes that young women was my mother, brother, and I. 

I don't know how many times this happened or how often but eventually my brother and I ended up moving in with our grandparents. Rumors say that my father heard of the injustice of his family towards my mother and put them all in their place. He couldn't believe that his own family had allowed such things to happen, especially knowing that we were his children. Eventually they did the right thing. 

My mom is a strong woman. She is not perfect, far from it if you ask me, but she is strong stronger then what she believes she is. She did whatever she had to do to make it and protect her children.  She managed to enroll me in a catholic school and even if she was a bit crazy for putting me on a public bus at age 5 all by myself to make it to said school (I find this hilarious!) she raised a God fearing woman who will forever love her and care for her till the end. 

I like to think that back in the day people were more trustworthy. Everyone was willing to help one another without expecting nothing in return. You know that saying "it takes a village to raise a child"? Well back when I was a kid this was the honest truth. Everyone was involved. Everyone helped. Neighbors were family. 

It surprises me beyond believe on the  many things that I can remember from my very young days. Because of this I try to make my children's memories as pleasant as possible. That it's not always the case of course because you know, we are not perfect but I believe that the good memories will outweigh the bad and if there are such bad I pray that my children will forgive me, us. Why? Because at the end of the day we are not perfect.

When we would visit him he would cook dinner for us. He made the best eggplant! I never ate eggplant unless he made it. He was a great cook. I remember we would go visit and it looked like a giant dirt field with very little grass. He'd take my brother and I for walks around "the field" and introduce us to his "friends" there. It was very weird now that I think about it. But I have to admit that it wasn't a scary and traumatizing experience as some would think it'd be.  

Fast forward to five years later. The happiest day of my life. 

It was late one evening. I know this because I remember the sun setting. My grandmother told me that she received a called from from dad saying that he was released from jail and he was on his way home. Again I don't remember specifics but recall her saying that he wanted me to wait for him at home (meaning her house) not to go anywhere. Granted that at 5 there was really no where for me to go. Either way I waited. And waited. And waited. I have no memory of where my mom and brother were at this point but I know my mom was not around the neighborhood because they were looking for her everywhere to tell her the good news. 

As I waited anxiously it got dark out. Usually in DR it doesn't get dark until after 8pm. Like summers in the States. Then the unexpected happened. The next door neighbor asked me to go to the Colmado (corner store) down the street. I explained that I was waiting for my dad so I couldn't go but she insisted I go that it wouldn't take long. And honestly it wasn't far I'd say a block if that. Now everyone knows that you must respect your elders and listen when they tell you to do something, especially in the Hispanic community, so as the shy and obedient girl that I was I went ahead and went to the store for her. And what do you know my dad showed up. He showed up and I missed it. He was looking for me and I had no idea he was home. 

On my way back I saw him from a distance and I'm pretty sure I teared up, or maybe I think I did. But I am sure as my name is Pamela that I ran toward him. I ran fast, as fast as I could screaming "Papi Papi Papi". He got down and opened his arms and I ran right into them. He hugged me tight and picked me up and said something that I will never forget. He said "I told you not to go anywhere that I was coming home". And although I felt bad for not waiting I was the happiest little girl on the planet at that precise moment. 

That was indeed the happiest day of my life.  

*Rainy days in DR where so much fun! We were allowed to go out and play in the rain. My cousins and I would run circles around the house getting wet and finding "cañones" that would allow the water to fall on us fast and hard. Whenever we visit Dorney Park (the amusement park in our town) I love going to water works because it takes me back to those special rainy days. 

*Playing marbles with my brother and his friends. I was the youngest of the girls and no one ever wanted to play with me so I'd take it upon myself in joining my brother's games. I remember being very bad  at it but boy was it fun. We would statin ourselves on the side of our grandparents house and make a circle on the dirt to play against each other, winner takes all hahaha. 

*Having all the kids in the neighborhood come in front of my grandparents house and/or up the street from our house to play freeze tag, or manhunt.

*Sitting under an almond tree with some of the kids by our house. I don't recall much of what we would do but I remember the tree, the adults gathering around it drinking beer, and us sorta imitating them minus the beer ;) 

*Waiting for my grandpa (father's dad) to come home from work so I can assist him in taking off his work shoes and socks. He would give me one whole "peso" to myself for doing that. One peso went far in those days. I recall an incident with one of my cousin where he wanted the peso and try to push me out of my spot to assist grandpa but instead grandpa told us each to take a leg and he gave us 50 cents. Neither of us where happy about it. 

*Oh the carnival. I remember those days so well. People would dress up and parade around town. They'd make "balloons" out of cow's bladders and whoever was out on the streets without a costume would get hit with it. Now, don't ask me what was the purpose of that or or how I thought it was fun because there might be more to it than what I remember. I just know that if I wasn't wearing a custome I would watch from my window. One of my favorite custome and the only one I remember wearing was that of a gypsy like Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. 

*There was this park located diagonally from one of our house in DR that I would frequent often to play in the swings. My memory is a bit unclear about specific times at this park but I remember always coming home with a piece of jewelry missing and my mom being super mad about it each and every time.

*My moms dad passed away when I was fairly young, either three or four, but I have this memory of me sitting on his lap begging him to let me do his hair. He had an afro and I would ask him to let me comb his hair. According to  my memory he said yes and I had a ton of moñitos (pony tails) on his head hahaha. That's the only memory I have of him and boy do I love that memory, it is so vivid it's like it just happened not so long ago.

*My godfather is a seamstress in the DR and he would make me doll size furniture for me to play with. I had everything from beds to couches and side tables. Man he was talented!

*My grandma was the best grandma ever to me from what I remember and memories of her would live on forever. My brother and I lived with her for a long time while we were kids and she wold treat us like we were her own. Most of my memories of DR involve her and her house. I remember hiding from my mom under her skirts, going with her to do errands and visit her daughters. I was this skinny, long, and shy girl and this woman would protect me and cradle me in her arms like a mother would. Aside from stories I've heard on how she treated my mother, she wins the best grandma award in my book. I miss her so much!




To remember is to live. I'm glad I though of doing this series. I have so much that I want to remember.

Toward the end of last year I came across a question, "what is your story?" I thought about it a bit and not too long after I told myself I should write  my story on my blog. I'm already set to document as much as I possibly can about my life this year, so why not take one day of the week to write about my life the past 28 years, where I was born and raised, memories of me living in the Dominican Republic, major events in my life, the hardship and the good things, etc. 

More than anything I want these story live on forever, I want to be able to come back to these words when and if my memory starts to fail and I want my children and grandchildren to know the real me, all about me. So I invite you to come on over but this little space of mine,  grab some wine, put your feet up, and join me on throwback Thursdays to a trip down memory lane. There'll be many sad stories but don't let them consume you because they are all in the past now and believe it or not I am thankful for them, most of them anyways, because those stories are what shaped me into the woman that I am today.  

My story is far from a fairytale but it's my story and I am going to document it. :)