My father was born in Guayama Puerto Rico in 1904 from a single mother. He never knew who his father was and his mother died when he was eight years old. He left his stepfather’s house in Guayama when he was twelve years old. He was self-educated and was the only muralist of altars in churches in Puerto Rico. He painted seven churches; he knew art more than an art professor. He spoke and wrote English and he excelled in all aspects. He used all his obstacles in life to turn them into victories.
He met my mother, they got married and they had ten children; eight men and two women. Looking for their baby girl they had eight males one after the other. They went eight years without having children and then when my mother was in her forties I was born.
From that man who suffered so much as a child, I learned the best life lessons. He taught me to count the stars, to look for shapes in the clouds, to enjoy the scent of flowers, to run behind butterflies and to understand that we are an integral part of the nature that surrounds us. He always said, “Darling, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade and never lose the ability to be outraged by injustices.”
He taught me what affection is and that a woman should be treated like the petal of a rose. If you do not value yourself, nobody will do it for you. We had hard times. Maintaining a family of ten was not an easy task. But material poverty was overshadowed by the love and affection I received from that first love in my life MY FATHER.
María M. García
