I Felt the Chill Before the Winter Came (Birthday Acknowledgment Post)

momdadme
I turned 27 years old on Friday.

When I was a little boy and I found myself faced with the question of what I would do when I grew up, I wasn’t ever really sure what the answer was on a professional level. An abundance of possibilities, but no clear vision of what I would be doing as a job. One thing was always very clear to me, though: I wanted to be married and have kids by the time I was 27. This was a kind of ultimatum I’d consciously set for myself because that was the age my parents were when they brought me into the world. Every daydream I ever had of myself as a grown-up was basically emulating what my Dad did, because I thought he had done a pretty great job at it.

For most of my early life I saw myself, quite proudly, as a carbon copy of my old man. Everybody would even comment on how much we looked like each other. We had the same sense of humor, the same steadfast sense of right and wrong, the same overall demeanor. I was a bit of a giant, like he was. I would feel happy whenever I caught myself displaying some of his mannerisms. There were entire conversations at the dinner table about how much I was like him. I’d be beaming while my other siblings sat there, annoyed by our celebration of my genetic predisposition.

One of my first reality checks came during my teenage years, when I found myself feeling increasingly oppressed by my Catholic upbringing. When I started to veer away from the path, Dad wrote it off as a phase. When it became clear that I had truly abandoned the flock, I had to sit down and have one of the most difficult conversations I’d ever had. My father, a lifelong Catholic, struggled with the fact that his firstborn was grappling with his faith in this way, and the fact that he might even abandon it altogether must’ve felt akin to an act of deep betrayal. In hindsight, I could’ve handled that whole situation better, but petulance is inherent to the teenage condition.

My relationship with my father remained strong over the years but there’s still that weird little bit of lingering regret that pops up every once in a while, in the nooks and crannies of my psyche. Sitting together with my Grandmother last year, he asked her if she thought we still looked alike. She said “a little bit.”

I turned 27 years old on Friday. Buenos Aires gifted me with friends, joy, love and laughter, as well as the first few whispered hints of the coming winter. I pull my collar up as I count my blessings and move forward.

6 thoughts on “I Felt the Chill Before the Winter Came (Birthday Acknowledgment Post)

  1. Baby!Jorge is adorable. What a cutie!
    Happy birthday, yous. I realise everyday that I am more like my mother (not just in how I look, but in how I am) than I ever realised, and that I am nothing like her at all. I think this is what it’s meant to be like: to be these copies of our parents, but to make our own way forward. Surely, this is how our species even survives?

  2. Ok, el viejo de MDQ te saluda! Feliz Cumple pibe! Your dad is too cool. Was that in Santa Marta? I passed through Bogota – in vitrio – two years before your folks appeared if my math is right. Sos Ariano … like my wife and her daughter … and I saved my rebellious years for my twenties when I would sweat and break guitar strings on a few tiny stages around Toronto. My father was defiantly atheist but I never believed he was wholly so (pun intended). What a great what-it-means-to-grow-up song!

    1. Muchas gracias! I’m not sure if that was in Santa Marta. I do know that the sand looks pretty grimy, but I’m gonna say that’s probably due to the distorted colors in the picture. I remember it being a lot nicer.

  3. Happy Birthday Jorge. You were adorable then as you are now. A lot of people tell me I’m like my dad too. As a kid, I loved this. As an adult, I had go make sure I wasn’t balding and growing a moustache. I’ve had a very similar “discussion” with my dad as well about my catholic roots. He still thinks it’s a phase. Hope you had a great one!

Reply! Do it!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s