My hero…My Papi

Every little girl needs a hero in her life and mine has always been my Papi (“daddy” in Spanish). I’ve shared so many memories with him during the 60 years of my life and I’m so thankful for each and every one. The older I get, the more I realize that I’ve had and continue to have a unique and wonderful relationship with my parents. I wish everyone were as fortunate as me.

As a little girl, I could hardly wait for my Daddy to come home at night. When he walked in the door, I would jump into his arms and wait for him to say, “How hard can you hug me?” Then, with all the strength a little girl could muster, I would clench my jaws, wrap my arms around his neck, and hug him as hard as I could. In my mind, the harder the hug, the more he would know I loved him.

One of my first memories of Daddy-and-me time was when he took me out to dinner when my Mom was in the hospital after giving birth to my younger brother, Peter. That night was made that much more special because going to a restaurant was a rare event in 1949. We went to Johnny No Bones Steakhouse in southern California. Salisbury steak (aka hamburger steak) was my meal that night. I was just three years old and yet I can remember feeling very grown up. I was out on the town with my main man and I did my best to be very grown up. My maturity bubble burst when, as we were leaving, the waitress asked if I wanted a lollipop.

We lived on a farm, across the street from my paternal grandparents, and, in addition to both of my parents holding down full-time jobs, they farmed six acres of land. My mind is flooded with the memories of those years. He taught me to drive the tractor when I was about five or six years old. Can you imagine how thrilled I was when, for a brief bit of time, he walked along beside the tractor as it slowly lumbered along with me steering it?

He also taught Peter and I how to play baseball. During our games, Dad threw in slow pitches, ensuring we could connect the bat with the ball, so we could round the bases. In my mind, I can still remember the excitement of hitting the ball and Dad “trying” to tag me out as I rounded second base (better known as the water faucet).

My Dad owned an upholstery shop and his days were spent reupholstering furniture. Somehow, it was magical to watch him take old furniture and make it look like new again. At the age of eight, I remember sitting next to my Dad on the material-cutting table as he helped me work through my frustrations of trying to understand long division and borrowing in subtraction. He never lost patience with me and, while math is still not my strong point, I can perform those two tasks with speed and efficiency! (-:

I think my favorite, all-time memory of time with my Dad was when we lived in California’s Sierra Nevada mountains, in a small town called Mammoth Lakes. It was a ski resort and I was attending a very small high school with a student population of 98. Toward the end of the school year, we made the seven-hour drive together to southern California to take care of something or other. During our trip, he took me to the May Company department store to buy my dress for my senior prom. At the time, I couldn’t appreciate how special and unique it was that my Dad was the one to take me. But, I remember that it caught the attention of the saleswoman. Dad patiently waited as I tried on dresses, giving me his opinion on each of them until we found just the right one. I’ll never forget that dress…I felt like a princess in it.

In my adult years, we’ve continued to build memories. There was the night that he wrap his arms around me and we cried together as I told him that my heart was breaking because my first husband no longer wanted to be married to me…the week that my best friend, Marsha, and I spent helping him lay adobe brick as we helped build a dining room on to their house in Taos, New Mexico…the nine months I lived with he and Mom when I first moved to New Mexico and he made me a fruit smoothie every morning…the time he had open-heart surgery and I brought him a milk shake (with a nurse's permission) because, after a week, he couldn’t stand the hospital food…the Valentine’s Day that I arrived home from work to find a Kitchen Aid mixer on my kitchen counter because he knew I loved to bake…and on and on.

My parents are my biggest fans and my Papi never fails to tell me how proud he is of me. As an adult, I know that many of the values that shape my life come from him and I’m so proud of that. I’m 60 years old and I’m still his little girl. That’s more special than I can say.

Happy Father’s Day, Papi! You’re still my main man!

And one last thought…"It's only when you grow up, and step back from him, or leave him for your own career and your own home – it's only then that you can measure his greatness and fully appreciate it. Pride reinforces love." ~Margaret Truman

Comments

[Sandra Trca-Black]

What a beautiful tribute, Franni!

[Laura]

CP ~ Your words made me cry, how deeply moving. Give your Papi a hug from me, and tell him I said thank you for sharing his little girl with the world! Love ya!

[Roxie]

Franni,

This is so touching and so beautiful. I truly enjoyed reading it. :-)

[Franni Ferrero]

Thanks to all of you for your comments...and Papi thanks you too! (-: