Daddy’s Girl

“Sólo vale la pena vivir, para vivir” -- JMS
“It’s only worth living, to live” -- JMS


For as long as I can remember I have been made aware of how much I am like my mom. Some women would not take that as a positive, or at least would take it with a certain amount of complaining. I for one take it as a great compliment, because the truth is, I am remarkably like my mom. Physically, we share the same body type, the same frame, the same brown eyes, the same round nose, we have the same bunions in our feet, even our fingernails have the same shape. We would have the same smile, had it not been for the braces I had when I was in middle school. Two things set us apart, significantly apart: my dark tanned skin, and my untamable curly hair. Both things a gift from my dad; little pieces of DNA that survived what must have been a brutal fight to the death with with my mom’s genes. 


When it comes to personality and character, it turns out, mom and I are not so different either. We are both genuinely happy people, explosive with energy, shy --very shy, in my case-- at first, but once we know you, we'll be your friend forever. We are also very easy going, we don’t like to give other people any trouble, and we like to go out of our way to help others. At the same time we are no-nonsense, no-bullshit people. Come to us with a reasonable concern or situation and we’ll do anything in our power to help you, or at least make you feel better; come to us with stupidity, and we’ll have no problem calling you out. We also have a thing for logic and analytical thinking, and because of this, we have a thing for nagging, or as I like to think, for beating into your head the right/logical answer or conclusion. 


It would seem that there, too, my parents' traits went full-on at it, and, it would seem that there, too, my mom’s was the winning side. But just as in my looks, buried in the mess that is my personality, my character, me, there are little pieces of the puzzle that are undeniably my dad’s. My love for music and dancing is one of those pieces. The way my whole body just can’t help but move when I hear the beat of a drum, and the way my face lights up, like a kid on Christmas morning, when I’m dancing to a salsa song, and my whole world just stops, and everything else ceases to exist, while I dance this one song. The little patience I have also comes from my dad, because as explosive as I can usually be, some of my finest moments have been when I take a step back, and take the situation in, with the ease, and finesse, and just complete peace that only my dad can have in the face of adversity.

But, by far, the thing I have to thank my dad the most in my life is for living. And I don’t mean for being alive, for existing, for breathing, for having been a fetus, that turned into a baby, that turned into a girl, that turned into this woman. I mean for really living, for looking at life in the face, and knowing what the odds are, and what the dangers are, and what the logical thing might be, and then saying “screw it, let’s go for a ride”. It is because of my dad that I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty --actually, the dirtier, the better--, that I ride on roller coasters, that I talk to strangers. 


It’s because of my dad that I when I think of swimming I don’t think about drowning, but about my peace of mind. It’s because of him that when of think of cycling I don’t think about hit-and-runs, but about the wind in my face. And it is solely because of him that when I think of running I don’t think about the knee replacement I might need, but about the freedom that I have. It’s because of my dad that I’m a runner, and because of him that I turned into a triathlete, and it’s because of him that I found the courage inside of me to even try being an ironman.  


Life is full of surprises, or so they say. Thanks to my mom I’ll be able to analyze them, dissect them, and find the most logical conclusion. Thanks to my dad, I’ll be able to stop for a moment and breathe, and then face them head-on, and make the most out of them, and live each and every one of them. I might be an almost identical copy of my mom, but at the end of the day, I am and will always be my daddy’s little girl.