In All My Memories
A Compilation of Moments in Remembrance of Mi Papi
Rafael Castillo García, born October 26, 1951 – died February 27, 1988
In my first year of life, a dark figure holds my hand and helps me take my first steps. He was sweaty and dirty but I couldn’t help to hug and kiss him, I must have been two by then. Princesa, only he called me that, along with mi gordita y mi primera hija.
When I was five, I wore a pink, night gown labeled with the word princess in white that he bought for me. It was my favorite pajama. I remember running out to the living room and finding lots of presents under the tree, “He worked a lot of overnight shifts for this Christmas,” mami said. He braided my hair a couple of times and then one year he took me to get a haircut instead. I had feathered hair in 4th grade and he took a picture to prove it.
When I was eight, he made us get up early to watch Twinkie, our dog, give birth while he explained the birds and the bees. He introduced me to all kinds of food, including patas de rana – yes, frog legs, but his brisket and carne asada were the best. He taught me how to ride a bike and I made him proud by riding with my hands out to the side. In 5th grade, he took me to my school presentation on the handlebars, of that same bike, because the car had broken down – you see I couldn’t get sweaty since I was wearing my special Mexican dress – he had said.
He mowed the lawn, built us a swing and planted roses for mami, always wearing his boots and cowboy hat. One Christmas, he bought mami a new diamond. He made her smile like no one else could. He gave me a book, a new book, for my birthday and Christmas every year, he signed all of them with his own name. He called us las niñas, mis niñas.
At twelve, he bought me my first silk nightgown to celebrate my transition from childhood to womanhood as a family. Mami said it was hard for him to watch me grow up. That summer, he drove us along Pacific Coast Highway in a beat up camper RV, all the way to Yosemite. It was the best trip in my life and his last one. I fondly remember that he climbed up the waterfalls and waved back to us.
At thirteen, I begged him to take me to watch Dirty Dancing the movie. He did, against my mother’s wishes, and even sat several rows behind my girlfriend and me, making sure to not embarrass us. In eighth grade, I got my first set of bad grades – he cried, but didn’t know that I witnessed it. Then, my parents got separated, this time he cried in front of me. He traded in his favorite, old mustang for a newer car, just so I could be proud of him. I can still see the look on his face when I told him I prefered his old mustang. Weeks later, he met my first boyfriend and hated him, but gave me money to buy a Valentine’s gift. And a month after the bad grades, he wrote me a letter expressing the importance of education and la familia. I received it after he was taken to the hospital. He died at the age of 36, I was still thirteen.
At sixteen, I became editor of the school news paper; I thought he might be proud. At eighteen, I moved out of my mother’s home and started college, it was hard without him. It was really, really hard without him for so long.
But when I received my Bachelors of Science in Sociology, climbed the pyramids in Mexico, visited the Caribbean – twice, ventured up the mountains in Canada, trekked the Great Wall of China – sixteen times, got lost in the Grand Palace, ate grasshoppers in Bangkok, skiied with my sisters in Colorado as a family and finally swam with the turtles on the Great Barrier Reef while backpacking Australia at the age of thirty five - he was there along my side, I felt his pride.
He was there when my sisters got married, toasting with my tios. He was there when his first grandchild, Rafael – Rafito, was born. I saw his spirit pat my brother-in-law on the back. He is in every part of my life, in my first book, in the stories I share, when I teach my students – when I strive to change the world. After all, he was the first to show me the meaning of perseverance. Yet, he witnesses all my heartbreaks and, without fail, continues to remind me of real love.
He was in yesterday’s bike ride, will be in tonight’s dreams and tomorrow’s lesson. Papi, mi Papi, is in all my memories, even the ones that have yet to be experienced.
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