Home Sweet Home

There are few places in this world where I feel safe. I'm the kinda person that seeks familiarity; a sanctuary where I can center myself. For me, my reprieve comes at my dad's house.

We moved into that house back when I was starting the fourth grade. It was big back then, and it's even bigger now due to the fact that only my dad and youngest brother live there. Even though my dad has never liked it (even though it was built the way he asked for), it's been home base for over seventeen years.

Recently, he's been prepping it to put it on the market. Because of the fact that he's never felt comfortable in the house, and most of us have moved out, he wants a smaller house. My brother is helping him paint the rooms, one at a time. My room (well old room) was no exception.

work in progress, but it's not mine anymore

My haven had been painted Pepto-Bismal pink since the time I moved in. I had glow in the dark stars that decorated my ceiling. I remember nights when I'd lay in my bed and stare at those stars for hours until they dimmed and disappeared. Well, it all went away and my room went back to being sterile, bland, and white. The only imprints of my existence are the thumb tack holes on the walls. I can't deny that a feeling of panic set in knowing that I really can't go back home. But then again, knowing my dad, he'll make space for me somewhere.

Every other day, I'll go to my dad's seeking a break. Being a single parent leaves you with almost no breathing room. Work and my daughter are both full-time jobs, so I go to my dad's to let mija play outside and visit with her 'dad', tio, and tia. While she's running around at full speed, I'm allowed time to sit down and visit with people that understand me better than I understand myself.

love love love the conchas

There's another sneaky reason why I love to visit my dad. He already knows more or less what days I visit so he makes sure to have pan dulce at the ready. Our favorite bakery has always been El Mejor Pan so as soon as he's outta work, he'll jet over to the bakery, buy our favs, and head home before I get there. He always makes it seem like it was just my luck that he went to buy bread. Dad just has that kinda heart.

who needs Whataburger?

Second part to that reason, my dad makes some awesome food. Since we were kids, my dad never liked eating out. We were allowed to eat out one day outta the week and that was usually Fridays. Other than that, it was home-cooked meals all the way. So there will often be times when I get to his house and he's made carñe guisada, picadillo, fideo, arrozo, or pollo en el orno. His frijoles are the number requested food at all family gatherings; they really are delicious. When I get there, he'll always say "Mija, sirvete pa que comas. There's more than enough." Believe me, there hasn't been a time when I resist.

Going to my dad's is my connection to sanity and to the way things were before. For example, last weekend, my brothers and I got together there to re-live a Friday from back when we were kids. We ordered Pizza Hut (the only fast food luxury allowed back then), crowded around the TV in the living room, and watched The Thing (1982 version). That's definitely our definition of a perfect weekend evening.

Dad's evolved over the years. He's become softer, even though he'll deny it till the bitter end. My lil girl has him wrapped around her pinkie. They both adore each other. He was beyond strict with us but I guess that's what we needed. My mom's in the picture but things are different with her. She's still my absolute best friend, but divorce is a nasty, nasty thing. That's a topic for another day and time.

my barrio has been home for my entire life

If you ever wonder, where F in L is spending her weekend, I'll be at my daddy's house...trying to find answers in the past. I haven't had much success but the search has been fun.