Vivid Moment

I’ve had many meaningful memories that will always be with me. Memories that bring so much joy and courage. My father has always been very profound and passionate with his words and the way he expresses his thoughts or feelings. He has been through a lot in life like any other immigrant, but that doesn’t mean that his experience is less meaningful. My father migrated from Mexico at the age of 16 because he had to bring money back for the family’s well-being. He sacrificed his youth and his life for a family he couldn’t see anymore. And only recently has he been able to visit his homeland and see his family, allowing him to hug the people he loves. I can go on for hours and hours talking about my father, and every day I’m learning new things about him as I grow older and man to man comes up more often.

            It was my eleventh birthday, and throughout the week my father was working more shifts at his job and missing time away from the family to get me something special, my mother told me. I’ve always thought that he could easily get me something that cost less and allow me to rest after hours of tireless work, but he had something on his mind. And the something on his mind was to get me my first bike. Later in my life, my father told me that a bicycle was very important because he taught himself how to properly ride a bike. Before my dad started teaching me, we had man to man talk about how this journey was going to be very difficult and I was going to get hurt, but I couldn’t allow myself to give up. When we got to the park, we had an issue with the balancing of the bike. I was terrified of falling, hurting in unimaginable ways. But I kept having the courage until eventually I got the hang of it. This continues with the skill of steering, steady pace of pedaling and mindset of riding a bike being reached. But for those goals to be reached, I had to fall to learn how to do things properly. My legs and elbows were proof of that process, a process that fueled me to overcome the bike.

            While practicing riding a bike, I sometimes got so scared that I just froze and forgot how to do anything. It felt like I was being put in a box, unable to get out because overthinking thoughts held me down. There was a corner on the road we were following, and my mind just froze. My hands were locked on the handles. My dad was screaming at me to turn the corner, but I just went blank. The water refreshed me but made me regret it even more that I didn’t listen. My clothes were drenched in swampy water. The smell made me so angry that I couldn’t handle my rage that I punished the ground repeatedly. My fear held me down. I hated that so much. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t let this happen anymore. I couldn’t disappoint my father after all his hard work.

            Around the 20th trail, I got the hang of it fully, like it felt second nature to me. I just couldn’t believe it. The joy in my face after all of this work was incredible to see. I just didn’t feel anything like that before. It was all so new to me, and I loved that feeling. A feeling that I would crave in a situation where I knew I had low chances. And the face on my father’s made it so worth it, so God damn worth it. The thought that was constantly on my mind was that I had made my father proud of me. I knew my dad was proud of me before, but in this moment, it felt like I had surpassed the other times. Those are the thoughts I still hold close to me whenever I just can’t pass a challenge. I learned that day that hard work comes with a lot of pain, but in the end, you’ll achieve your goals. As we went back home, my father got me my ice cream from those little Hispanic carts. It was one of my favorite days in my life. My scars on my legs were proof that I was improving and pushing forward. I made my father proud of me. Thank you, dad, for helping me control my hand seizures with those memories of pushing forward.