In the "print" version of our letter, I included a poem that I wrote about Dad. Here is the interpretation of the poem, in case you were wondering:
Dad - this is what I used to call my Dad, pretty much from my earliest recall.
Papa - this is what our kids called Dad, dating back to just before Daniel was born when we asked him what grandfatherly name he wanted.
My Love - the cariño or term of endearment that Mom and Dad called each other after they were remarried; to me, it stood for their Christ-centered love for each other.
Tocayo - what you call a person who has the same first name you do; in our culture, there is a special bond with someone with whom you share a name.
Da-Ding-Ding-Di - the phonetic spelling of a special song that Grandpa Rubio and Dad both sang as they bounced a little child on their knee; all seven of our kids clamored so much for "Da-Ding-Ding-Di" that I'm sure Dad's calves cramped up once in a while.
Tortillas - given a choice, Dad would eat his food with tortillas instead of utensils; the first time I brought Kathleen Bowman over for dinner with my parents, I told Dad beforehand that she was classy and that he would have to behave himself and eat with a knife and fork. Naturally, he didn't, and partway through the meal he sensed me giving him the evil eye; he gave that impish grin and deadpanned "Oh, I'm sorry" and then the three of us started laughing and left my poor person of interest wondering if she had committed an egregious faux pax. It was classic Dad.
Cosquilla Fights - as the name implies, it was an all-out tickling war between gleeful grandchildren who were extremely ticklish and a sly grandfather who had a secret ticklish spot that was a secret.
Classics - Dad enjoyed classic movies, always had dating back to when I was a kid. After he retired, he started to record some of these movies as they were shown on cable, and then send them our way to enjoy. He had quite an elaborate (ok, arcane) system for doing this that nobody else could ever quite figure out. But he introduced my 21st-century kids to some great 1940/50s-era movies. One of his classics from my youth even inspired a middle name given to one of our kids, Kiril.
Let's Play Some Ball - Dad's athletic ability was legendary back in the day, and it would be hard to sum all of it up except to say this: back in the late 80s, Dad played on our church league softball team. One time we played the Los Lunas prison team, and of course they cleaned our clocks. Near the end of the game, I was talking with their coach, and exchanging pleasantries. I complimented him on his crew; in return, he bypassed mention of all the 20- and 30-something players on our team and said, "you know that right fielder of yours? We can tell he was a
player." That was my 50-something Dad he was talking about. Such a good memory ...
Hero - Somewhere in my baby book, I think it says that my first hero was Wes Parker of the Los Angeles Dodgers. But that's wrong; Dad was my first hero. The only hero bigger to me is my Lord Jesus Christ.
Worshipper - Sometimes in the annals of parent-child relations, the son follows in the footsteps of the father. I have been actively leading worship in parachurch groups or churches since 1981. Dad joined the worship team at
A'dat Yeshua in about 2002. So I thought he was following in my footsteps this time. But truth be known, he has always been a wholehearted worshipper. I was following in his footsteps but just standing in front of the man. Back when we attended church in Belen, our worship team was playing the old camp hymn "Power in the Blood." I remembered how Dad worshipped on that song, and how he would punch the air with his fist during the chorus when we sang, "There is power, power, wonder-working power in the blood of the Lamb!" The next time we song that song I tried to think of a way to capture that with my bass, and I came up with a slide (from the root to the fifth) over the "power, power" part. I still play the song that way; in fact, the first time I led worship after he passed away, I picked this as one of our songs.
Laughter - Dad had a completely infectious laugh that could be heard a long ways off. It was the kind of laugh that said, "I'm really enjoying this!" If laughter is the best medicine, then Dad was a fountain of tonic water for everyone who knew him.
Hugs - long before "man hug" entered the vernacular, Dad was giving hugs to say hello and goodbye to both men and women. It was another sign of the new man that Christ made. I remember one time giving him a quick one-armed wrap before expecting to pop free, but he held on to me and asked me not to be in such a hurry. After that, I tried not to be ... I hope I was successful.
A Man's Man - once at a Channel 11 event in Albuquerque, Blackie Gonzales (who unfortunately for all of us just passed away in early January '08) was introducing Mom and Dad, and he referred to Dad as a man's man. Twice I was able to go with Dad to
Promise Keepers; once in 1993 when four of us drove to Colorado Springs from Ann Arbor and met up with him there, and again in 1997 when he drove to Michigan and accompanied a group of men from my church who went to the National Mall in DC. I am so glad he encouraged me to attend PK, it really was a boon to my spiritual life back then. He gave me a framed picture of the million Christian men on the Mall, which will hang on my office wall as long as I have one. One in that million is a man's man.
Tears - if there is one thing I could count on about my beautiful, sentimental father it's that he would cry tears of happiness or sorrow. He felt life very deeply and richly. When we would say goodbye before one of us left to go home, his tears told me that he loved me. When I was in the hospital with him in the depth of the night, and I knew he would be entering his rest and that his lucidity was passing, I spoke an hourlong goodbye into his ear. At the point that I told him that for 45 years he was the best Dad that I could have ever imagined or wanted, he started to cry.
Adelante - some Latinos have corrupted the meaning of this word, but it is not corrupted for me. I believe that when Dad was entering his sabbath-rest, he was being called by his Savior in his native Spanish, and the word he heard was "adelante." Come quickly Lord Jesus!
