Many times we talk about life's problems, but today I want to talk to you in the voice of my experience.
Father, you taught me to speak with the words of my soul and put flowers to the daily problems of the day.
In my nights you are the star that guides me, because I remember you every time a problem overwhelms me. Your wise words and your experience that made me feel that those problems did not exist.
You remember the day we were near the sea, on that beach where you taught me to fish - memories that are more mine -, you got mad at me for writing a verse in the sand, you told me we were going to fish not to fall in love.
However, by reading the words that formed that verse, written in the sand-that was the beginning of this crazy passion of me life-, you told me to write madly. You gave me a kiss on the forehead that I never washed, I was only six years old.
My father, the one who taught me to walk from his hand, from your voice a flower, from your teaching my character and from your embrace a love.
My father, how many memories in my mind,
Do you know when I realized the importance of the word dad in my life? when I came home from a hard day at work and my mother told me: take off your dad's shoes.
One day, carelessly, I pulled the sock hard and your foot fell to the floor, you didn't get angry, you just told me to do things calmly. You stroked my head and asked me to go play. You never taught me to panic at your voice, just respect your person.
The day we talked from man to man you looked me in the eye with a serious voice and told me that you were keeping track from the day I was born to the man I am today. That one day, your debt collector - life - was going to come to collect everything I owed you and beg God to give me the strength to pay off my life debt.
At that moment I kept silent as the ignorant is silent, today I recognize that your words are wiser when you're right life, your collector arrived and it was not one were two, my children Jonathan and Sheila. Today I have to pay what I owed you, I just want to be like the man who did not bend with the winds of life.
Words come and words go,
Only the silence of your voice is heard louder in my heart. Learn to listen to be able to speak, learn to obey to be able to someday send. Listen first to the voice of your soul, so that she speaks for you. Learn from life, from those blows it gives, learn from your children, so that you give it joy.
When you know that life rewards you when you guide, they will say one day that a good father was my old man.
I remember that in class, I know, a long time ago, the history teacher asked us which characters we admired most. My classmates and I started writing. In my case I wrote more than two sheets.
Some of my colleagues talked about Benito Juárez, Pedro Infante, Gandhi and other historical figures. When my turn came, the room fell silent, I walked forward and began to read: he was born on 27 April 1933 in a place called Anahuac, to be exact in the state of Nuevo León.
The first grandson of the revolutionary Benito García.
He was not the son of a noble crib, but he was a great gentleman, a gentleman's print and drinks fine wine, tequila with ñachi - the favorite drink, since he takes a glass a month to keep the vessel.
It is the person who gives the bread to several children, the one who dresses and fits, the one who educates. He is always surrounded by several people every day. Receive gifts every weekend. He trained engineers, doctors and the occasional graduate.
The character I admire most is called Adalberto Díaz García, they call him Churchill, I say dad. He is wise, intelligent, hardworking, like none. He doesn't play football, much less baseball, but he's a great lord. Read the cowboy book and do not use the Internet.
My voice trembled and my tears rolled down my face.
It was my emotion, I wanted to shout at the noble lord that it is an honor to be a piece of his skin, that noble lord is my breath.
Little by little the echo of his voice is heard, as my heart beats, when I remember him, as the great lord, the one who guides me and says how I should be every day.
If I could describe you I would use thousands of words, I would form big sentences, I would fill this page just to be able to describe a person who was and will be very important in my life. The architect of my destiny, the man of hard trait and fine word, who drinks fine wine once a month so as not to lose the vessel.
If God gave me the opportunity, I would ask that my letters have wings so that they could and you could read this madness that I feel for a man who was born in Anahuac, to be more exact of the state of Nuevo León. Some say Don Beto, others Don Churchill, but I only tell you: Dad.
Fly white dove, the one that sends the mail, tell him that I want him, that I wait for him on the beach where we fish, with the letters of this passion that was called My Father and me.
To my father
With Honey: Your son.