It’s been quite some time since our last word. There is so much to say, but nothing you probably already don’t know. You wouldn’t be disappointed because I know you, but with your blood in in my veins I know I should have done done more. For this I apologize, but I know life is not a straight line. There are so many things I wish I could tell you. I want you to know I breath strong because of you, and my heart beats strong because I have your blood flowing in me. I want you to know I have a life full of friends and special people I wish you could meet. Each day for the past 19 years you have been with me, in every decision you have been with me. In my successes and failures you have been with me. I tried to be there for your family as you would. I know I’m not you, but I do my best to fill the gap you left. Sometimes it’s been hard, but I remember what you taught me. I remember the pride you have when you looked at me. This keeps me going. A few years after you died I remember our water heater went out, and I had to install a new one. I know it was simple, but it was the first time I had to do something without you. There was a certain fear that came over me when I had a question about the gas line and you weren’t there to answer. You had always been there, and all at once it hit me that you were gone. After I calmed down everything you taught me started to fill my head and I felt you by my side once again. Since then everytime I pick up a hammer, or a power tool I feel close to you. I know you worried about Johnathan and Mom as you were dying. Mom was never really the same after you left. She stayed strong for us, but there was always a brokeness inside her. There were times I was angry with her for not being as strong as you, but I know you would have told me she is doing her best. She never remarried, and I am sure you are not surprised. Instead she devoted herself to her children, and grandchildren. She died 14 years after you, but in someways I feel part of her died the day you died. Regardless we still had many happy times as a family in the years after your death. Johnathan went to St. John Bosco and graduated. He still is finding his path in life. I recently moved back into the house, and I am doing my best to guide him. For several years I had lived in Pomona with Christina. I had several happy years there, but it didn’t workout. You had your doubts about her, and now I see why. As I said there are so many things to say, and I could go on forever. Today I made a decision to a chance and go after my dreams. I know you would not think I wasted my life, but I want more. I know I am capable of more. So I made a decision to devote myself to going after my dreams. You never had an opportunity to risk it all because of your responsibilities. I wish you did but I know you had us. I thank you for the sacrafices you made for us, and I promise to chase my dreams. I promise to take the risks you never could. This is promise is the only way I can pay you back. I have no doubt that I will be successful. My life is full of good people. Out of all of them there is one I wish you could meet. There is a lot in this person that reminds me of you. Like you she grew up in the projects, and never had it easy. Like you I have never seen her take a sick day without being sick, and although lost at times in the end she always does what is right. From the moment I met her I knew I had to love her. Her name is Jadie and she is definitely special. I know you would love her too. She keeps me honest about myself, and pushes me to reach for the sky like you. I am not sure how to define what she is to me, but she is definitely part of me. Now back to me. You’ll be happy to hear I finally finished my degree. The day I graduated was hard without you. As with all great days in life for me it is always bittersweet without you. I couldn’t die without finishing school. This is something I owe you. I am also writing again. You probably didn’t know my love of writing until those days in the hospital. I recently found a need to write again, and it’s one of the passions I intend to pursue. Sorry it took 19 years for me to write you I just didn’t know you were listening. I love you Dad and will never stop missing you. I promise you I will die only with memories and not dreams.

When I was ten I checked out a book on balsa wood gliders from the library. I have always loved libraries and book stores. Not sure where it started but my father had his library of books. Most of his books were utilitarian in nature, being devoted to construction, architecture and appliance repair. Looking back this one of the main sources for my love of books. As a child I was a amazed at how my father could learn to do anything from a book. There is some powerful and magical in that fact. My mother also took an active role in cultivating this deep, almost religious respect for nature I have in me. My elementary school sponsored book fairs every few months. The book fairs were special days for me. It was a anticipated the way other children looked forward to Disneyland or trips to the arcade.

Getting back to the subject at hand this book detailed several plans to build gliders. The suggested material was balsa wood. Being a small child my knowledge of woods was limited to that you would encounter at the local lumber yard. My father being a contractor I had much experience with red book, douglas fir and pine, but balsa wood as my father told me was a very special wood used in specialized craft project. The primary of these special qualities is its unusual lack of density or weight made it perfect for gliders. I remember my father using the yellow pages to find a hobby store in Buena Park. It was distance away from my childhood home but it was the closest business that had what we needed. It was a rare weekend where my father didn’t work, but he took Saturday afternoon of to drive me to this hobby store. I spent the week reading almost obsessing each glider this book detailed. I had selected the one I wanted and the previous evening my father and I reviewed the plans to determine what we needed.

I still remember walking in. It was the first hobby shop I entered. The ceiling was littered with remote controlled gliders and model planes. There were numerous aisles of special glues and paints only hobbyists would need. My father briefly talked to the guy at the counter, while I got lost in the fantasy land of remote controlled planes and cars. These were expensive toys I could only dream of having, but a boy could dream. My father called me to the back corner of the store where a small area of shelves and bins were devoted to balsa wood of various cuts thicknesses, cuts and shapes. Picking up my first piece felt surreal, as if I was touching some alien material. It looked like wood, smelled like wood, but it had the weight and density of styrofoam. I enjoyed these moments with my father. To me he was the source of all knowledge, there wasn’t ever a time I could remember in childhood where he didn’t have an answer or thoughtful response to my childlike inquiries. After selecting our inventory of balsa wood we went to the counter to purchase our supplies. On our short walk through the models cars, warships and planes he mentioned that we needed a special glue. He said this special glue was stronger and this was needed for our glider. I didn’t question it, but looked forward to playing with this special glue. Looking back I am not sure why my father knew of such things. His father was an alcoholic and from the stories I heard was never much of a father. Most stories my father shared led in disappointment or of him making the best with what he had. The closest thing he had to a fond childhood memory was a story about a schwinn bike his father promised to buy him. My father told me a story of anticipation of how his father gave him reasons to actually believe he was going to get a new bike. My father walked by this bike shop all week on his way home from school, which must have been torture to a young boy. Finally, the Sunday came when they were going to purchase the bike and the bike shop was closed. They never went back. His father never mentioned it again and that was the end of my fathers fantasy to own his own bike. Despite the abusive and selfish figure his father was I never heard my father say a bad word about his father. All he would say was he did his parents did the best with what they had. I thought it was curious that the shopkeeper kept this special glue locked up behind the counter so I asked my father about this on the way to the car. He said kids put it on a rag and smell the rag to get high. Like I said my father knew everything. I kind of find comfort in the fact that most people in my life see me as a source of knowledge.

We finally made it back to our house. Buena Park was about a 45 minute drive but to an adolescent boy with glider to build the drive seemed forever. It was late afternoon and my father reluctantly agreed to start building the glider. Looking back its moments like these that make me realize what a great father I had. It was a late Sunday afternoon and it was his first day off in weeks. I’m sure he wanted to relax but he said yes and we worked on the glider till late that night. He let me do most of the cuts on the wings, which was probably why it never flew quite straight, but we will get to that later. After hours of miter cuts and glueing there it was sitting on my kitchen table. I wasn’t allowed to touch it too much because my father said it needed to dry. Reluctantly I let it sit on my kitchen table sitting on a bed of newspapers so it there overnight. He said we would take to the park tomorrow after he got home from work.