Happy Birthday!

Sixty Nine years ago today a boy was born in New York City. His mother from Puerto Rico and his father from Ecuador. He grow up in the Bronx with 2 sisters. He had a a hard childhood which he had to endure a strict mother and an abusive alcoholic father. His survived the streets of the Bronx. His name was Arthur.

Because options were limited he had to join the Navy. Lucky enough it was not during a time of war. He served many years. After active duty he returned to New York with a trade. Got a job with Con Edison and the married for the second time. In 1974 he bore a son.

That man is my father. The one who taught me most of what I know now. During and after a very difficult divorce, we was able to guide me through High School and College. Always telling me that I owe him nothing because, after all he was doing his job as a father.

I felt the closest to him when I had a terrible break up with an ex girlfriend. I was the first time I really felt that him and I had a shared experience. He knew what I was going through. He empathized with me. It was the first time that I actually cried because he comforted me.

Since then, I stopped being the kid who rebelled against his parents. I wanted to be the kid that parents talk to their friends about. I think for the most part I was. I believe I was there for him when he was diagnosed with Cancer, due to the work he did for Con Edison.

He has survived that and continues to survive the brutal weather of Sunny Deltona, Florida. Happy Birthday Papi. I love you.
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