BROWN COWS AND CHOCOLATE MILK

I don't know exactly how to start this next story. So I just going to tell you.
I have two children, Jonathan and Melissa. I guess the best part of being a parent is when you watch them grow up since they are very little because this is the time when you can appreciate better their innocence. My daughter loves milk, and she loves chocolate milk more. So one day, few years back, when we were visiting relatives in El Salvador, we went to a farm to enjoy the day and see all the farm animals roaming freely on the ground. In Canada, unless you live in a farm you have to visit a fair to see these animals in cages or in enclosed areas. Anyway, while Jonathan was busy chasing the chickens and ducks, Melissa was very close to the cows. I approached her and asked which one she liked the most. She said: "I like the brown cows of course, Daddy".
I reply asking why she preferred the brown cows.
And then she said: "Daddy! Everybody knows that from brown cows come chocolate milk!"
I just stood there without knowing what to say and holding back my laughter, I smiled and said: "Of course darling, everybody knows that."

EL RETRATO DE MI PADRE

Lo que llevaré impregnado en mi alma son aquellos tiempos que compusieron mi niñez junto con mis dos hermanos menores.
Ahora que somos hombres y tenemos nuestras propias familias entendemos mejor el porqué crecimos siendo hombres honestos, trabajadores y sin vicios. Es sencillamente el ejemplo que recibimos de nuestros padres.
Yo en particular puedo apreciar ahora al mirar atrás todo lo que aprendí de manera subconciente al observar la conducta de mi padre. Un hombre de familia humilde, sin educación formal, solamente con un oficio de platero, el cual había heredado de mi abuelo. Mi padre siempre hablaba con orgullo de mi abuelo. Cuando íbamos a la iglesia siempre nos deteníamos a admirar la imagen de la Virgen de los Pobres, quien era la patrona de nuestra ciudad, y quien lucía en su cabeza una hermosa corona de oro. Mi padre siempre nos recordaba que era mi abuelo el que había hecho aquella corona. Mi padre se quemó sus ojos haciendo toda clase de prendas de oro, trabajando en un taller como empleado. A pesar que ganaba muy poco, cuando era día de pago nosotros sabíamos que íbamos a recibir dinero de él. Ese gesto me caló mucho al saber y entender que yo tenía un papá generoso.
No recuerdo haber visto a mi padre consumir alcohol. La única vez que lo ví borracho fué en la iglesia, cuando murió mi abuela y él lloró sin consuelo en los hombros de mi madre. Solo el alcohol pudo sacarle las lágrimas entonces.
Es muy común en algunas culturas que el hombre tenga hijos afuera del matrimonio.
Mis hermanos y yo nunca supimos de otros hermanos por afuera porque mi padre nunca tuvo otros hijos con otra mujer. Por eso no es de sorprenderse que nosotros no tenemos hijos afuera de nuestros hogares también.
Hoy mi padre está en la casa con mi madre, ya no trabaja porque ya no puede, está ciego por el glaucoma y su mente ha empezado a jugarle trucos. A pesar de todo hoy me miro a mí mismo y miro a mis hermanos y puedo decir con algarabía en mi corazón y gratitud en el alma de que nosotros somos el retrato de mi padre.

FIN

THE PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER

What I will have engraved in my soul are those times that forged my childhood with my two younger brothers.
Now that we are men and have our own families, we understand better why we grew up being honest, hard working men, and without any vices. It is symply because of the example we received from our parents.
I, particularly, can appreciate looking back all that I learned in a subconcious manner watching my father. A man of humble beginnings, with no formal education; a silversmith by trade, job that he inherited from my grandfather. My father always talked with pride about my grandfather. When we went to church we used to stop to admire the image of The Virgin of the Poor, the patron of our city. She was wearing a beautiful crown made out of gold. My father always reminded us that my grandfather was the one who had made that crown. My father burned his eyes making all kinds of pieces of jewellery working as an employee in a workshop. He did earned litle money, but when payday arrived we knew he was going to give us some anyway. That gesture made a deep impression on me because I knew and understood I had a generous father.
I do not remember my father drinking alcohol. The only time I saw him drunk was when my grandmother died, and he cried without console on the shoulders of my mother inside the church. Only alcohol was able to bring out his tears then.
It is very common in some cultures for a man to have children out of the wedlock.
My brothers and I never knew of other siblings outside our home because my father never had other children with another woman. That is why is not surprise we do not have children outside our marriages also.
Today my father is at home with my mother, he does not work anymore, he can't, he is blind due to glaucoma, and his mind is starting to play tricks on him.
Today I look at myself and I look at my brothers and I can say with inmense joy in my heart and gratitude in my soul that we are the portrait of my father.

THE END