Puff Pieces by Adrian: Daddy-O Daddy-O, Wherefore Art Thou, Daddy-O?

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Daddy-O Daddy-O, Wherefore Art Thou, Daddy-O?

While going through some old pictures during the Christmas break, I fell into a surprisingly deep reflection of my dear old dad. I’ve always had this pretty cool picture of him where he’s in a jungle somewhere, dressed as a Marine, kneeling down while smoking a cigarette. A picture of a pint-sized five-year old version of myself is superimposed on the very same picture. It’s a pretty snazzy setup when considering the era in which it was created. I don’t know where I got the picture, or who made it, but I’m thankful for it.

I do wonder from time to time, what my dad might be up to, and what his life is like. I met him only once, when I was twelve years old. I got to spend about two months with him in his home town of Sacramento, California, and it was an amazing time for me. He liked Gumby, he told me a bad joke about Rambo, and he laughed a lot. He seemed like such a nice guy, and he went out of his way at the time to impress me and befriend me. It is a bit sad to me now as I’m writing about it in this moment. I never really knew at the time what I could have been missing there, in a possible life with him. It’s not like I ever had a choice in the matter either. Maybe there was a lot that he could have taught me, maybe not, but I will most likely never know.

I’d rather not get into the parties that had been in my life instead. That subject would just depress and anger me, but suffice it to say that I’ve turned out alright, even without my dad being in my life. I have only heard bits and pieces of the story surrounding the reasons that he wasn’t in my life. This is information that I have only come to learn recently too, and it seems like he tried to make things work at the time. Anyways, I was never mad at him for not being there. I am still not. I supposed it’s been a situation where I simply didn’t know what I was missing, except for that one glimpse when I was twelve. Even in my thirties now, I wish I knew him.

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here, but this sure can be a lonely life sometimes. If I didn’t have a partner to share it with, and now, my soon to be daughter, I’d have almost nobody. Maybe it would be nice to have a good relationship with a father, even if he were just my friend. He wouldn’t even have to be that amazing at all. I would just hope that he had a good heart. This is certainly wishful thinking, but hey, that’s what I’m all about. I’m a total dreamer. Hey, if you are reading this, and you happen to actually be my dad, shoot me an email, bro! I’d love to talk to ya and catch up. lol-ing !

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Revolution of the Soul. A Mission Statement.

I am by default, and through no fault of my own, different. I’m not out cruising the boulevard on the weekends, blasting oldies-but-goodies with the homies. I am also not listening to rock en Espanol, speaking in Spanish-only with my friends. I could fit into either stereotype perfectly though, and to an outsider, I probably appear to be from either or both worlds. I have brown skin, which is pretty much all it takes. It’s not that simple though, as others like me surely understand. I speak some Spanish but I also speak perfect English. I went to college. I love hamburgers and fries, and hip-hop, and alternative music. I have simply integrated into American culture from the start, because I was born here, and because I wanted to.

I’m glad that I’m not still stuck in Mexico somewhere, growing up a third world existence, which statistically would have been the case, had my familia never come here. But I am glad to have come from a country and peoples with such a rich and vibrant history. There are many reasons having such a heritage is a good thing, and I am proud to be a part of it. I am glad to have been born here in America, and happy to be part of this system. I’m happier yet that I didn’t grow up as a cholo gang-banging, tagger, too-cool-for school type of guy, even though I’ve had plenty of chances, given my surroundings. That subculture is not all bad either, depending on the level of involvement and the choices one makes. In other words, you can look the part without being a thug, or a social, or immigrant, or anything else, que no? This is true of all life.

So even though I am different, I am by no means alone, and I know this. The problem for me is that I’m not seeing enough representation out there in the media. I’m not seeing a lot of works written, or filmed, for people like me. It annoys me, too, for a lot of political reasons, because our image is grossly misrepresented. Sure the gangbanger cholos are fun to include in film, because violence sells. However, that only perpetuates a false image. These days, it seems as though everyone in this country sees us either as cholos or as immigrants that refuse to assimilate, legal or not. This angers me because we are so many different things including a multitude of diversity within our own subculture. It’s pretty frickin’ beautiful, if everyone only knew…

Either way, I decided to make the changes I wanted to see, on my own. I’m writing stories for me, for you, and for everyone else, and my main characters are all Latino, and not just Mexican-Latino either. My stories are not about quinceaneras or growing up as a pocho in high school. They are not about crossing the border, or starting any revolutions. The only revolution I write about is the Revolution of the Soul. My stories are meant to entertain and inspire people, and hopefully many of you will relate to them in one way or another, and see yourselves there in them, wherever that may be.